


s . 


I 



CHAPEL OF THE URSULINES— CECILE TAKING THE VEIL. 


See Chapter IX. 






dAX-ih. 




THE 




OR, THE 


HuvninQ o( 

I 

A Romance of Mount Benedict. 


Author of the ‘ Burglars, or the Mysteries of the League of Honor,'' ‘ T%e 
Belle of Boston,^ fyc. 


BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED BY F. GLEASON, 1 1-2 TREMONT ROW. 
1845. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1845, by P. Gleason, In the Clerk's Office 
of the District Coart of Massachusetts. 



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PREFACE. 

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Romance of Mount Benedict !’ Pshaw!" MetblnUs we hear the hyper* 
critical reader utter this sentence with a sneering emphasis. “What is there 
relating to Mt. Benedict, of sufficient interest, to form a basis for a romance 
he adds, enquiringly, as though the subject had been exhausted in the ‘ Maria 
Monk” and “ Six Months in a Convent” narratives, which issued so prolifically 
from the pi ess some ten years ago. 

We are fully aware that it is generally supposed that the numerous works 
which have been written upon the Ursuline Convent, and the judicial invesii- * 
gations that were caused by its destruction, had made the whole subject familiar 
to every mind throughout New-England — indeed, that it was worn threadbare—- 
yet, at the same time, let these enquiries be made of those who are most familiar 
with its details — “Why was the Convent destroyed ? Who were the incendia- 
ries ? What object had they in view.? ’ and the answers cannot be given, plain 
and simple as the questions are, without the conflicting testimony of thousands 
of others, whose evidence may be equally relied upon And yet, these are the 
leading questions. How much more enigmatical, then, must be its details. 

If, therefore, the history of the Convent, from its institution to its destruction 
is still as mysterious and impenetrable to the great mass of the people as ever, 
it is a good theme for the writer of fiction. As our title indicates, we propose 
to write a “ Romance of Mount Benedict but if, in the exercise of our imag- 
inative faculties, we sliould accidentally stumble upon some stubborn truths, 
those whom they touch most nearly must not put on the coat, however well it 
may fit them ; for we would not incur tlie displeasure of the least among man- 
kind-T-we would be friends with all. 

HARRY HAZEL. 

Cambridge, November, 1844. 





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THE NUN or ST. URSULA 


ttomanie of iitount jBeuefiul. 




CHAPTER L 

Mount Benedict by Sunset. The dejected Student. Invective 
Soliloquy on Nunneries. The Nautical Stranger. Surprising 
Developments. Romantic Narrative. The Yankee’s Adventures 
AMONG the Subjects of the Soldan. 

It was at the close of a bright and beautiful day in the middle of June ; 
the sun was sinking behind the western hills, and shedding its last glitter' 
ing gleams upon the tower and cross of Mount Benedict, and fringing with 
gold the soft snowy masses of vapor which curtained the horizon of the Oc- 
cident. Twilight shades were fast clothing the groves and valleys with a 
sable garb. One by one, from the clear blue vault above, peered forth the 
planets and stars with their serene rays, and Night’s holy-queen moved in 
majestic beauty through the skies, and increasing in silvery brightness each 
moment of her silent course. The robin and swallow had chanted their 
latest song, and the cuckoo and whippoorwill had began their evening sere- 
nade. Not a leaf moved on the stately elm, nor a zephyr ruffled the waters 
of the dark Mystic, whose surface reflected with perfect distinctness the 
starry canopy of heaven. It was an hour for recreation ; the daily toil 
of the laborer was o’er, and instead of the din of labor, the hum of merry 
voices came forth from the gardens and fields. It was an hour too, for re- 
flection — a fit time to behold Nature’s Majesty exchanging her brilliant gol- 
den attire of day, for her silvery-gemmed garb of night. 

At such a time and on such an evening as we have described, the singu- 
lar tale we are about to narrate commences by following a solitary individ- 
ual through a romantic grove of trees, bordering on the extreme north of 
the town of Cambridge, near the Colleges, and in close contiguity to what 
is now termed ‘ Professors’ Row.’ The individual in question was a young 
man, apparen'tly of twenty or twenty-one years of age, tall and gracefully 
formed, with a handsome countenance, though at this time a sad and pen- 
sive expression rested upon his features. He pursued his way slowly along 
the path, swinging a Niagara cane or crook carelessly in his hand, and mut- 


10 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


tering incoherently at the same time. Presently he emerged from the wood, 
crossed the road, and stood upon a gentle eminence which commands a 
view of the town of Charlestown, its adjacent fields, and its commanding 
^lills. He gazed for a few moments at the surrounding scenery, turned his 
eye toward the heavens and in melancholy but earnest tones thus solili- 
quised : 

‘Would that the absurd theory of astrology were true, and I were one of 
its learned votaries, I might then foretell my destiny in those twinkling orbs 
which have no parallel in brightness, save in the eyes of her at whose 
shrine I could fall down and worship. Oh, Cecile ! Cecile ! you know not 
of the adoration which is offered to thee ! You know not ol the hours of 
anguish, of the sleepless nights that I have passed, deprecating thy rash res- 
olution to enter the walls of yon Convent! Could not the tears and en- 
treaties of thine only parent; the pure and ardent affection of him to whom 
you once pledged your love, have restrained thee from immuring thy beau- 
teous self in a living charnel-house ? Oh I Cecile ! had Jove’s dread thun- 
derbolt but shattered to the earth that unholy temple of mockery, misery 
and mortality, ere thy light footsteps had crossed its abhorred threshold ! 
Thou wert free, happy and merry ! pure and lovely as the brightest living 
thing of earth I Thy mother loved thee with more than a parent’s tender- 
ness ! Thou, too, wert the pride of the village, and thy smiles had an angel- 
ic charm that made glad every heart within their magic influence ! Could 
my mind but linger wholly upon those happy hours of childhood, when 
with me, thy chosen companion, we roamed these groves and vales to- 
gether, without the painful remembrance of that sad and dismal hour when 
you left a peaceful and happy home, and bade adieu to a bereaved parent, a 
disconsolate lover, thy dearest friends, and even this bright world, to be- 
come a Recluse ! a Nun! then might I be happy, and contentment ever 
be my lot! May kind Heaven yet interpose anti rescue thee from passing 
beyond thy novitiate in that mystic temple. Let not those who beguiled 
thee from all that the world holds dear, ever bestow upon thee the blasphe- 
mous appellation of ‘ Spouse of Jesus Christ!’ Profane monsters! doth 
not the lear of an offended Deity, whose disciple thou protesseth to be, 
cause thee to tremble ? Forbear ! withhold thy sacrilegious mockeries 
from the innocent maiden whom thou hast inveigled into those unsanctified 
and secret chambers. Cecile ! awake ! free thyself from the infatuated 
spells with which thou art bound, and abjure the false dogmas and su{)ersti- 
tions of })apal power !’ 

A solemn peal of musical bells from the turret of the Ursuline Convent, 
vibrated with startling distinctness upon the ear of the young man, and ar- 
rested the wild expressions to which he gave utterance. He descended 
from the eminence into the main road, when he descried an individual 
astride a fleet steed riding quickly up the ascent. The horseman was at- 
tired in a true sailor’s garb— blue jacket, white trowsers, checked shirt, tar- 
paulin hat and pumps ; around his neck he wore a wide black ribbon, with 
a ring of bone, slipped thiough the ends in lieu of a knot. The moment he 
saw the stranger he reined in his steed. His countenance denoted manli- 
ness, resolution and perseverance ; but could his features at this moment 
have been closely scanned, a shadow of sadness and doubt might have been 
seen occasionally disturbing its natural complacency. He did not appear 
more than twenty-three years of age, and were it not for his nautical habil- 
iments, he would have been accounted of a different rank from a jolly son 
of old Neptune. As soon as he had checked the prancing and curvetting 
of his high-mettled horse, he thus accosted the student : 

‘Halloo! ship ahoy! Pm out my reck’ning. These land-marks have so 
changed since I was last in these cruisings, that I am at a loss on which 
point to steer ! 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

‘ To what port are you bound?’ asked the other, imitating the nautical 
address of the stranger. 

‘ That’s pretty good for a land-shark ! By your hull and rigging 1 should 
know you was one o’ them college larks, so 1 can’t be far off the course. Is 
there a handful of water about here that they used to call Fresh Pond?’ 

‘Yes!’ answered the student, ‘and it lies about one mile on the road south 
of this ?’ 

‘ Thank ye, my hearty ! I see how it is — they have been cutting a new 
channel through here !’ 

‘ This is, indeed, a thoroughfare somewhat new. You must have been 
absent from here a long time ?’ said the student, inquiringly, and with an 
emphasis that denoted that his curiosity in regard to the sailor was some- 
what excited. 

‘Eleven years !’ he replied, dropping his head upon his breast. 

‘ Eleven years !’ reiterated the student. ‘Along lime for one of\'our 
years.’ ^ 

‘ True !’ replied the sailor, drawing a bandanna from his jacket pocket, 
and with it wiping away a tear which moistened his eye. ‘ Are you famil- 
iar with these cruisings ?’ 

‘ Perfectly w'ell ! 1 know every crook and turn, and every house for two 

miles around.’ 

‘ Then, p’raps you can tell me of a family that reside or once resided in a 

little cottage, near the F’resh Water Pond by the name of ’ Here the 

sailor hesitated and wiped away the tears which coursed down his cheeks. 
‘By the name of— Melville ?’ 

‘Melville!’ echoed the student, starting at hearing the name mentioned by 
the tar. ‘Jknow them intimately! You mean the widow Melville and 
her daughter ’ 

‘ Cecile !’ interrupted the sailor. 

‘ The same !’ 

‘ Then Heaven be praised !’ and leaping from his horse he grasped the 
delicate hand of the stranger. ‘ I thank you, my good friend. They are 
well?’ continued he, earnestly. 

‘Mrs. Melville is well,’ replied the student. 

‘And Cecile ?’ 

‘ She’s not residing with her mother, now.’ 

‘Not residing with her mother, now ? Come— -what mean you ? Don’t 
keep me in the fog ! Has the old lady become poor and sent the pretty Ce- 
cile out to work ? Thank Heaven, I have plenty of shot in the locker ! They 
shall be made happy again if poverty is the trouble. Oh, my dear mother 
and sister ’ 

‘ Your mother and sister !’ exclaimed the student with surprise. ‘ What ! 
do I behold John — my old schoolmate, John Melville?’ 

‘No! not John Melville — but Jack Melville! Give us your flipper my 
hearty ! You have made Jack as happy as ever a jolly tar was in meeting 
his sweetheart after a voyage of discovery around the world! But avast 
there ! who are you ? I never set eyes on your hull afoi*e !’ 

‘What ! not know your old playmate, Fred Gray !’ 

‘ Shiver my timbers ! so it is! Give us your small grappling iron, my 
hearty, once more ! Why Fred, my boy, you have grown to be a gentleman, 
while you see Prn but a rough looking son of old Neptune I Lord bless ye, 
next to my mother and little Cecile 1 should have spoken for you ! But, 
speaking of Cecile, what port is she nowin? You said she was not at 
home !’ 

‘ No, Jack ; would to Heaven that she were at home ! You see that huge 
brick edifice upon the summit of yonder round hill 


12 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

‘What, that prisonisli looking concern, with a caboose upon the top of it, 
and a jury-mast and a yard rigged aloft.?’ 

‘You mean the cupola and cross. Jack ?’ 

‘ Yes, Fred, cabooses or cross-trees, it’s all the same to me !’ 

‘Well, Jack, she’s there!’ 

‘ Well, ’spose she is there ?’ questioned Melville with a suspicious em- 
phasis, and staring at the building. ‘ It’s not a calaboose, or a house of cor- 
rection, or a state-prison is it ? 

‘No!’ 

‘ No !’ reiterated Jack, imitating his friend. ‘Come, speak out like a man 
Fred ! Don’t keep me shivering in the wind’s eye ! Bear away at once, 
and no more luffing! What is it?’ 

‘ It’s a — a — ’ 

‘Its a — a — ,’ mocked Jack, impatiently. ‘ Well a — a — what ?’ 

‘It’s a Con — Convent!’ stammered B'rederick Gray. 

‘ Shiver my timbers, if I didn’t half think so!’ said the seaman, the tears 
again starting from his eyes. ‘ Excuse me, Fred, my pumps are at work 
again. Lor’ bless me, who’d think that a rough cruiser like me could feel 
as 1 do ! She isn’t what they call a Nun is she ?’ 

‘ No, Melville, she is now what they term a Novice, but I learn that they 
have persuaded her to consent to take the black veil.’ 

‘And if she does, shiver my timbers if I don’t unveil the whole crew.^ 
But how is this ? How came she there ? What catholic priest has been 
cruising in our soundings .?’ questioned Jack peremptorily. 

‘None that I am aware of,’ replied Gray, ‘ but she has of late become 
strangely infatuated with the Nunnery. You must know that it is common 
for some of our fashionable Protestants to send their daughters to the Con- 
vent-school to get an education, as though their ovvn schools were of an in- 
ferior character. Your mother was persuaded to send Cecile, and soon af- 
ter, through the influence of the Abbess, and others connected with the 
Nunnery, she was prevailed upon to try a life in the cloister. She is now 
in her novitiate, or probationary state, as it is termed, and if some counter 
influence is not exerted she will soon take the veil, and thus in this monas- 
tery entomb herself forever!’ 

‘ Never !’ said Melville, with earnestness. ‘ I will burn the accursed con- 
vent to the ground, if milder means prove ineffectual ! Come with me ! I 
must fly to my mother. Lend me a hand Fred in this emergency, and you 
shall never want for a friend while Jack Melville is in a condition to carry 
a rag of sail !’ 

‘With all my heart,’ replied Gray. I have more interest in this matter 
than you are aware of; and never will I relax my earnest efforts until your 
sister is again under her mother’s protection. But tell me, Melvil e, as we 
proceed along, your past history. We supposed you dead, for the barque in 
which you and your father sailed for France, was reported lost ana that all 
on board perished.’ 

‘Out of one hundred and fifteen men, women and children on board that 
ill-fated vessel, strange to relate 1 was the only person saved.’ Here Mel- 
ville hesitated, and wiping again the tears from his eyes, refeurned the reci- 
tal of his narrative in language that did not comport with his previous style 
of addressing his friend, or with the nautical garb which we wore. ‘Al- 
though I was but twelve years of age, all the circumstances attending that 
dreadftd disaster are as fresh in my memory as if they had occured but 
yesterday, but I cannot now enter into details. After a terriffic gale which 
Jasted three days, .the barque lost her spars and masts, filled with water and 
foundered, and not a single individual of that ship’s company, to my knowl- 
edge, ever again reached land but myself. My poor father, a few moment’s 
previous to the barque’s going down, lashed me to a large arm-chgir, and 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 13 

when she sank I went down with her, but again rose to the surface, and 
found myself floating on the ocean with not an object within my gaze, but 
a few spars from the deck of the vessel. The storm had now abated, and 
the sun, which had been obscured for a week, broke through the black 
clouds with dazzling brilliancy. I soon fell asleep. How long I slept 1 
know not. But when I awoke, I felt myself swinging to and fro in the air, 
and in the next moment was on the deck of a strange-looking craft, the 
like of which I had never seen before. I was surrounded, too, by strange 
looking men, with long beards and pale complexions ; some of whom were 
richly dressed with tunics, decorated with silver and gold, and jewelled tur- 
bans with <p*escent-shaped plumes covered their heads. Girdles were fas- 
tened around their waists, from which were suspended scimitars, pistols, 
&c. Others were dressed in plainer garbs but of the same costume. They 
gazed upon me for some time in mute astonishment. At length the cords 
were cut with which I was bound ; but my limbs were so benumbed that I 
could not stand without assistance. One of the men took me in his arms 
and carried me into the cabin, when I heard the voices of those whom I had 
just left, saying in loud tones — ‘Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar!’ The apart- 
ment into which I was carried was furnished in the most luxurious and gor- 
geous manner. Two negro slaves were summoned, who, upon entering, 
bowed and raised their arms in a circular form above their heads. This, I 
afterwards learned, was the Mohammedan sign of devotion. They led 
me into an adjoining room, where they, with some difficulty, divested me 
of my saturated clothes, muttering impatiently during the perplexing pro- 
cess; I was then placed in a warm bath, which seemed impregnated with 
the most delicious aromas, and had such a soporific influence upon my sen- 
ses, that I suddenly fell into a state of unconsciousness while immersed in 
the fragrant waters. When I was again restored to sensibility I found my- 
self lying upon a soft couch. Beside me, upon an ottoman, sat a black-eyed 
little girl, of not more than eleven years of age, whose exceeding loveliness 
was wonderful to behold. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds, and her mouth 
and lips, and carmine-tinged cheek would have made the mos; stubborn an- 
chorite forswear his vows ; her soft and glossy black hair hung in three long 
braids over her shoulders, and on her brow rested a gold crescent, orna- 
mented with three brilliantly-jewelled stars, tshe blushed when she met 
my enraptured gaze, and drawing a veil quickly over her sweet features 
she started up, and tinkling a small silver bell which she lifted from 
the table, disappeared from the apartment with a grace that I thought 
none but fairies and other imaginary beings possessed. The black slaves 
again appeared bearing upon their arms articles of wearing apparel ; they 
lifted me from the soft couch, and in an incredible short space of time, I 
was metamorphosed, from a genuine Yankee boy, into an Oriental youth, 
a la Turque. They then motion gd me to sit down, but perceiving no chair 
in the room I declined by shaking my head. One of them immediately sat 
down, crossing his legs under him like a tailor upon his shop-board, and 
motioned me to do likewise, which I accordingly did with no little difficulty, 
my nether limbs being unaccustomed to such a singular posture. As soon 
as I had gained the required position, the little bell was again rung, the black 
slaves di^rted, and the young sylph-like beauty again appeared. She 
fixed her dazzling eyes upon me for a moment, and a smile of pleasure illu- 
mined hef lovely face, while her soft transparent cheeks glowed with a 
deeper crimson than when I first beheld her. She spoke to me in the sweet- 
est tones that 1 had ever heard from mortal lips, but in a language which I 
did not umlerstand. She then made signs so expressive that 1 quick- 
ly comprehended that she desired to know if I would partake of food, 
which i gladly assented to by nodding my head, for I had eaten nothing for 
V)metime — how long 1 knew not. The slaves were again summoned, bring- 


14 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

ing me food, such as I had never seen before, on plates of silver and gold ; 
also, two goblets, one filled with delicious wine, the other with cool sherbet. 
Burning with thirst I seized the goblet nearest to me and applied it to my 
parched lips, and should have swallowed it all at a draught, had not my 
fairy-like monitress ran towards me, and with her little delicate hands took 
it from me ere I had half finished it, at the same time shaking her head by 
way of caution, and smiling in the most bew'itching manner at my intem- 
perance. She then gave me the goblet containing the sherbet, wliich 1 was 
allowed to imbibe more freely of. Having satisfied my thirst I looked around 
for a knife and fork, or spoon, to eat my food with, but perceiving neither I 
made signs to her that I w'anted them ; but she shook her head and finally 
seated herself beside me, and began to pick up the food with her fingers 
and placing it in her mouth, and beckoned me to do likewise, a custom al- 
gether new to me, but, nevertheless, a general practice among the subjects 
of the Soldan, into whose habits I was now being initiated. A filagree fruit 
basket, containing figs, all of which I should probably have eaten, had not 
my monitress yjerceiving my intention, saved me the trouble and perchance 
a severe illness by eating. at least half herself. After my agreeable repast, 
she motioned me to rise, and placing a turban upon my head and a similar 
covering upon her own, she took me by the hand, and with quite a conse- 
quential air led me to the quarter deck of the vessel and in a dignified man- 
ner presented me to the superior officer and his subordinates, who saluted 
me in the Mohammedan style ; I answered by making a Yankee school-boy’s 
bow, at which they all laughed heartil3% My monitress then instructed me, 
and I was soon enabled to perform the sign with as much accuracy and 
grace as those who had just enjoyed a fit of merriment at my expense. 
The chief officer took me kindly by the hand, patted me on the head, talking 
rapidly at the same time, and in so pleasant a manner that 1 was assured 
my preservers felt not only a sympathy for my situation but that they were 
highly pleased with me. My pretty companion led me aroupd the ship, 
telling me the name of each thing we saw in her own language, which 1 
endeavored to pronounce after her. Days and weeks passed, and I soon ac- 
quired sufficient knowledge of the language, to make myself partially 
understood. 1 learned that I was on board the Turkish flag ship of war, be- 
longing to the squadron of the Dardanelles, and that Zillah — for this was 
my pretty companion’s name — was a Grecian maiden and the adopted 
daughter of the Pasha Mehemet Effendi, or Lord Admiral of the fleet, 
whose ship I was then on board. 1 was treated with so much affec- 
tion that ere long I was happy among these people whom Providence had 
cast me ; and gradually my affliction for the loss of my father passed away ; 
yet thoughts of my dear mother and sister made my heart often yearn for 
home. But I knew that was then an impossibility ; my spirit prompted 
me to bear up against these thoughts, and I resolved to make myself worthy 
of the esteem of my hospitable preservers. The vessel, after a long pas- 
sage up the Meditterranean and the Dardanelles, arrived at Constantinople. 
The Pasha Effendi took me to his magnificent palace with the beautiful Zil- 
lah, where for two years I was treated with the utmost kindness and atten- 
tion, and a learned tutor was employed for the special purpose of instruct- 
ing me in Oriental literature and in practical sciences, in wliich I made rap- 
id progress. My mornings were devoted to study, and my afternoons and 
evenings to pleasure — roaming with Zillah amid the flowery shrubbery of 
the palace gardens, or listening to her sweet voice while thrumming the 
tuneful guitar or mandplin. 

Thus two years passed pleasantly away when war was renewed against 
Greece. The Pasha informed me one morning that he had obtained from 
the Sultan a Midshipman’s commission for m5, which 1 gladly accepted 
but felt grieved at the thought of parting from Zillah, whom I was allowed 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 15 

j 

to ca!l my sister, ai]i4.^r whom I felt more than a brother’s love. I was or- 
dered on board of the^ship, which was in readiness to sail, and acquainted 
Zillah with my promotion. She ran to the Pasha, and upon her knees be- 
fore him be^^ged permission to accompany us. But he positively declined 
taking her upon tlie dangerous expedition. She wept bitterly at our part- 
ing ; but 1 comforted her with assurances that I should soon return. The 
fleet immediately sailed, and I entered upon my new vocation with soniuch 
zeal and alacrity, that I won the confidence of my brother officers, and eli- 
cited much commendation from the Pasha. After a cruise of eighteen 
months, during which time we had several engagements, we were ordered, 
with nearly the whole naval power of the Ottoman Porte, to Navarino, 
where we were attacked by the fleets of the Allied Powers of England, 
Russia and Greece, and whero it is well known that our force was nearly 
destroyed. In this desperate conflict 1 saved the life of the Pasha, by sev- 
ering tlie arm from an officer of a Russian Corvette, who with Ids men had 
boarded our ship, while aiming a pistol within a yard of his breast. Subse- 
quenth', through a plan of my own, I succeeded in disentangling our ship 
from the grap{)ling irons of a steam-frigate^ which had commenced pouring 
a bubbling fluid upon our deck, and carried her out of the action, enabling 
us to escape. These circumstances raised me highly in the estimation of the 
Turks, and abundantly w’as 1 afterwards rewarded. 

My heart leaped with joy when we came in sight of the towers and min- 
arets of Constantinople ; b«it great was the consternation of the people on 
learning the ill tidings of the disastrous battle of Navarino ! I hastened to 
meet my Zillah, who flung her arms around my neck and kissed me o’er 
and o’er again, in presence of my commander and others of the household. 
1 verily believe that we were the only ha[)py pair in all Constantinople on 
the arrival of our ship !” 

Melville and Gray had now reached the little lane which led to the cot 
tage where the former was born. Here they halted. 

‘Ah! F'rederick!’ said Melville, with tears in his eyes. ‘The siglit 
this loved spot once more recalls to mind my happy boyhood days. Idare 
not suddenly reveal myself to my dear mother. Let me be your guest to- 
night. Claim the hospitality of my mother for a friend of yours who has 
just returned from sea, and to-morrow morning I will send to the ship for 
my wardrobe, &c. This rough garb I wear merely when it serves my 
purpose.’ 

‘ With pleasure,’ replied Gray. ‘ Your romantic narrative breaks oft' at an 
interesting e[)och It will give me exceeding pleasure to learn the sequel.’ 

‘Not to night, Fred — not to night.’ 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


CHAPTER IL 

The Ursuline Convent. Cecile and the Abbess. Alice Bentlet, 

A Lover or Freedom. Arrival or Frederick. Departure of 

Cecile. 

Mount Benedict! What New-Englander has not heard of this pictur- 
esque eminence, upon whose summit, eleven years ago, towered the ma- 
jestic walls of the Monastery dedicated to St. Ursula ? Then the pride of the 
Catholics and the abomination of the Protestants! Behold now the crum- 
bling and blackened ruins of that once noble edifice, suffered tost nd as a 
monument of intolerance, of desecration and disgrace upon the otherwise 
fair escutcheon of the good old Commonwealth of Massachusetts ! It is a 
commanding eminence, and thousands and tens of thousands of Protestants 
are obliged to look daily upon this scene of desolation ! On another height, 
not more prominent, and within the same view, towers the stately monu- 
ment of Bunker Hill! a monument erected to tlie memory of the gallant 
and brave who fell in the glorious cause of Liberty ! Freeman, as you stand 
upon the pinnacle of this massive granite tower, turn your eyes toward the 
setting sun and contemplate the mouldering ruins which rise up and ob- 
struct your gaze as if in mockery of the sacred Temple of Liberty on 
which you now stand! Americans! how can you* assimilate the monstrous- 
ly incongruous sentiments which involuntarily spring into the mind at the 
sight of these prominent objects ? These I thought to be the boasted scenes 
of civil and religious freedom ! But they deserve no such boasting so long 
as that desecrated eminence is suffered to stand with its mouldering walls 
upon its summit, marring the beauty of one of the loveliest landscapes 
of New England ! 

The conflagration of the Ursuline Convent, by a band of midnight incen- 
diaries, has become a matter of History, not only in our land but throughout 
all Christendom ; and in our state legislative halls it is annually made a sub- 
ject of debate, arising out of the multiplicity of petitions yearly ]>resented 
for a compensation to those who suffered by its destruction. As the princi- 
ple has been conceded by the state authorities of guaranteeing to the people 
ample amends for all property destroyed by a lawless assemblage, would it 
not be expedient and just, would it not be a matter of policy, if not of right, 
to pay the claimants, and thus end a controversy which has aided the spread 
of popery in our land, for the last ten years, more than the combined spirit- 
ual efforts of all its bishops and priests during the century previous. But, 
as it is not within the legitimate province of a novelist to discuss matters 
belonging to our grave legislators, and as our tale commences prior to the 
deplorable calamity, we forbear commenting further upon it. 

The Convent was a large three story brick structure, with a narrow pro- 
jecting front. The principal entrance was gained by a long flight of half- 
winding steps, leading to the front door, situated midway between the base 
and roof of the edifice. A cupola, with a gilt cross perched upon it, re- 
lieved the almost square appearance of the structure. Were such a build- 
ing situated beside a river or streamlet, one would have supposed it a fac- 
tory, so nearly did its exterior resemble one of those useful establishments. 
But, situated upon the summit of a high and commanding hill, surrounded 
by a beautiful garden adorned in a tasteful manner, .with labarynthine walks; 


17 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

bowers entwined with flowering shrubbery; rare conservatories of plants 
from every clime ; trees bearing choicest fruit ; the whole bordered with a 
high wall, lined with a thick green hedge, extending the entire circumfer- 
ence of its circular base, broken only in front by a gate arched with a trel- 
liced woodbine, gave the imposing edifice a picturesque andfascinatino aj)- 
pearance. Such was the Ursuline Convent prior to its destruction in 1834. 

Cecile Melville, the heroine of our tale, entered the Female Seminary, at- 
tached to the Ursuline Convent, at the age of fifteen, and her arnval there 
was hailed with secret pleasure by the Abbess of the Nunnery, and Padre 
Francis, a Canadian monk, who was the spiritual confessor of the estab- 
lishment, for it was known to them that she was the only daughter of a 
widow lady, and that Cecile had a fortune, which latter consideration had 
great weight in their minds. They had several private interviews particu- 
larly concerning Cecile, and it was resolved that every discreet means 
should be employed in order to influence her susceptible mind to regard 
their religion and institution with favor. In consequence she was treated 
with the utmost kindness, and every attention was studiously paid' her that 
could render the place attractive and agreeable ; the effect of which will 
hereafter be seen. 

One fine summer’s evening, one year antecedent to the incidents nar- 
rated in our first chapter, the pupils of the Convent Seminary were enjoy- 
ing their usual walk in the garden, attended by the Abbess, who attached 
herself particularly to Cecile Melville, and in the course of their winding 
promenade became separated from the rest of the company. They seated 
themselves within a little arbor, covered with green shrubber}’’, when the 
Abbess commenced a conversation with her pupil, in order to elicit her 
thoughts respecting a life in the cloister. 

‘The young ladies seem joyous to night,’ remarked the Abbess, as a 
sound of merriment reached their ears. 

‘ It is such a lovely evening, and in this beautiful place one cannot well 
feel otherwise,’ replied Cecile. 

‘ It gives me joy to hear you say so, my dear. Then you are pleased with 
our institution 

‘ Oh yes,’ replied Cecile with animation. ‘ 1 advance so rapidly in my 
studies, and enjoy myself so much in a variety of ways, that I could live 
here always;’ 

‘Indeed !’ said the Abbess. ‘ It is exceedingly gratifying to hear you say 
so. ‘ I believe our school has no equal in the country, yet some of our schol- 
ars frequently speak lightly of it.’ 

‘I am sure I could not find fault with a single thing, unless I should com- 
plain to you that too many kindnesses are lavished upon me. I never for 
a moment regretted that my dear mother sent me here, although many of 
our friends opposed it. I tell them now that every moment I am here is a 
moment of happiness. 

‘ Ah, my dear Cecile, you know nothing of happiness!’ 

‘ I do not comprehend you.’ 

‘ Ask those kindred spirits who have renounced the world ; who have be- 
come wedded to our Divine Master; they know of joys which is denied to 
beings of the world ; their measure of happiness is full I’ 

‘Indeed!’ replied Cecile. ‘You then can tell me of those joys which I 
do not understand.’ - 

‘ No, my dear ; it is foreign to my vocation to talk of these things to the 
daughters of Protestant parents ; besides it might offend your mother.’ 

‘ Oh no ! my dear mother would not take offence at anything that could 
add to my happiness.’ 

‘Then mark me and believe what I utter. There is no real happiness 
among the living, save with those who have taken the vows of our holy or- 


18 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


(ler; they are privileged to commune with the saints, and are under their 
s[)ecial protection. Let these things be impressed strongly upon your 
mind! though 1 would not influence you against the cold and unspiritual 
formula of Protestantism.’ 

‘ 1 believe that you would direct me aright ; but ’ 

‘Say no more, now, my good child. If ever circumstances justify it I 
may ])oint out to you the only true path to happiness in this life, and in the 
lile beyond the tomb.’ 

At this moment a sprightly dark-eyed maiden, of not more than fourteen 
s immers, bounded down the path almost breathless with excitement. 

‘ Oh, Cecile I’ exclaimed she. ‘ I have got such good news for you ! He’s 
come I he’s come !’ 

‘ Who has come, Alice.?’ enquired Cecile, blushing. 

‘ Who has come?’ reiterated Alice. ‘Now hear that; just as though 
you didn’t know who had come! Why, Frederick Gray, to be sure ! Ce- 
cile can’t surely have but one beau, when that one is so handsome !’ 

‘Miss Bentley!’ said the Abbess, sternly, as she left the young Misses; 

‘ when you have completed your errand, you will retire to your room.’ 

‘ Yesm;’ said she, jeeringly, after the Abbess had left. ‘Now that the 
cross old Lady Superior has gone Pll tell you. Frederick Gray has come 
with a horse and chaise, to carry you home to make a visijjat your mother’s 
particular request. I wish my mother liad sent for me to«fc’ 

‘ Thank you Alice,’ said Cecile, mildly. 

‘ Why how dull you seem ; I should jump for joy were I in your place.’ 

‘ I am glad to go home and see my mother ; but 1 And a great deal of 
happiness here,’ remarked Cecile. 

‘ 1 hate the Convent, and shall be glad when my term is out. The teach- 
ers are so cross to me, I can’t bear them.’ 

‘ The Abbess is certainly very kind ; indeed, they all are.’ 

‘ Oh, they’re partial ; they want to make a Nun of you. I shouldn’t won- 
der if they yet christened you St. Cecilia. It will be a long time before 
they make a Nun of me. I don’t like the looks of their pale faces and se- 
rious aspects ; besides they all die of consumption.’ 

‘You must not judge by outward appearances. Their joys are wjthin.’ 

‘ If they’re happy, I’m glad of it ; but I do’nt envy the possession of such 
happiness. I’d rather be free, and enjoy the bright and beautiful things of 
Nature — to roam though the shady groves and green fields, and sing and be 
merry like the birds, than to be mewed up in a cloister, like a criminal, 
and pretend to be happy.’ 

Thus spake the lovely and independent-minded Alice Bentley; but her 
words fell unheeded upon the ears of her sedate yet beautiful companion ; 
for she was contemplating, almost abstractedly, the words that the Abbess 
had spoken to her. They had now reached the plat of green grass before 
the Convent door, where Frederick Gray was wailing, impatiently, for his 
beloved Cecile. 

‘ You are kind, Frederick, to come for me,’ said Cecile, as he took her 
small hand and pressed it within his own. ‘ Wait but a moment and 1 shall 
be in readiness.’ 

They were soon seated in the vehicle, pursuing their way on the road 
leading to Old Cambridge. 

‘ How is my mother .?’ asked Cecile. 

‘ She is well. I saw her but an hour sincej 
. A long pause now ensued. ^ 

‘Cecile,’ said Frederick, at length; ‘ do you intend to return to the Con- 
vent ?’ 

‘I am unable to say. I should be pleased to go back if mother has no 
bjections. It is a good institution, and a delightful place, and I must con- 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 19 

fess that I almost envy the happiness of the Nuns themselves. Their lives 
are peaceful and holy ; they live but to do good, and are not subject to the 
dangerous vicissitudes of the ever changeful world.’ 

These sentiments sank deep into the heart of Frederick. He had, from 
some trivial cause or other, or perhaps a mere creation of his own fancy, 
conceived a slight suspicion that Cecile was inclined to become a recluse, 
and this remark of hers seemed to corroborate what he suspected. 

‘ I fru^ that you are not serious,’ said he. ‘ What would your friends say 
if they should hear it reported that Cecile Melville intended to renounce 
the world and bury herself in a cloister ?’ 

‘My friends would certainly advise me to choose a course of life that 
would best conduce to my happiness and welfare here and hereafter.’ 

‘ Most certainly,’ replied Frederick. ‘ But you may be unduly prejudiced 
by new friends, and I trust you will fully consider the step which you hint 
at for your dear mother’s sake — for the sake of your friends — yes, Cecile, 
for my sake !’ 

‘ Be assured, Frederick,’ said she, firmly. ‘ I shall do nothing precipitatej' 
ly or unavisedly ; but the things which belong to Heaven must not be too 
lightly passed over.’ 

‘Surely not! but monasteries you know have had a doubtful reputation 
ever since their first establishment, however free from imputation the Ur- 
suline Convent may be ; and to be charitable I am fully persuaded that there 
does not yet exist any grounds for charges against it.’ 

‘ You speak truly. I doubt not that the order in some countries has fallen 
into disrepute by the abuses of those who should have been its preservers. 
As regards the Ursuline Nuns they appear more like angels than men, and 
the Convent seems more like a celestial paradise than a human habitation. 

The chaise bad now reached the cottage door of Mrs. Melville, who was 
waiting to receive her daughter. The mother embraced Cecile affection- 
ately, arid thanked Frederick for his kindness in escorting her home. 

Ceeile had been but a few days under her' mother’s roof, when she was 
taken suddenly ill, and for some time her life was despaired of. Two long 
months elapsed ere she was pronounced convalescent. Meanwhile' she 
received almost daily visits from the Abbess and others attached to the 
Convent, who were admitted to the invalid’s apartment, and expressed so 
much solicitude in her behalf, that Mrs. Melville as w’ell as Cecile looked, 
upon them as ministering angels. During this' period the joys of a monas- 
tic life were duly set forth, and before her complete recovery, she vvas so 
much infatuated with the idea of becoming as one of her saint-like friends, 
that she succeeded in gaining her mother’s consent, who religiously believed 
that her daughter’s happiness would be enhanced thereby ! 

Frederick Gray made daily visits to the cottage, but during her illness he 
did not see his beloved Cecile ; neither did he know that it was contempla- 
ted he should never behold her again! His morning and evening orisons 
were offered up to his Maker for her recovery ! His prayers were heard— 
but. when it was told him that she was again at the Convent as a Novice, he 
exclaimed in the agony of his heart — ‘ Would to Heaven she were in her 
grave, and myself beside her !’ 

2 


20 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


CHAPTER IH. 

The beautiful Novice of St. Ursula. Rites of the Convent. 

Padre Francis, the Monk.- Indelicate Intrusion. The Confes- 
sional. The Felicity of a Life in the Cloister. Impiety of 

the Monk. 

It was a cold winter’s day in the month of February, just after the Con- 
vent bell had summoned the Ursulines to their various avocations, when a 
carriage halted at the Convent gate. A young lady immediately alighted, 
and proceeded, up the snowy pathway, ascended the long flight of steps 
which led to the front entrance, and rang the door-bell. It was quickly op- 
ened by a female attendant, who conducted the closely-hooded and veiled 
stranger to a large room back of the front parlor, which was used exclusive- 
ly for the setting room of the Nuns, and for the reception of Novices. At 
one end of the apartment was an altar with a crucifix, illuminated by six 
candles, resting upon it. The female removed her veil and hood, and re- 
vealed the pale and serene, yet beautiful countenance of Cecile Melville! 
She prostrated herself before the altar, and continued kneeling until the 
Abbess made her appearance. Were it possible for a human being to rival 
the angels in heavenly beauty and loveliness, such a being appeared Cecile 
Melville while prostrate at the altar! Her face was white as the purest al- 
abaster, and fair as Parian marble. Her deep blue eyes, turned upward, 
lent a seraphic expression to her countenance. Upon her neck of snowy 
whiteness her dark tresses rested inproflision, and added grace to the Sym- 
metry of her sylph-like figure. Her right hand rested upon the altar, while 
the fingers of the left were entwined among the curls which reclined upon 
her bosom. 

Such a being was Cecile Melville, when she entered the Ursuline com- 
munity as a Novice. On that morning she had bidden adieu to her only 
earthly parent and an assemblage of friends, with the firm determination 
of ultimately becoming a Nun of the order of St. Ursula. 

The Abbess embraced Cecile and kissed her fair cheek. ‘ Welcome to 
our community !’ said she. ‘You are too lovely and angelic to suffer the 
trials and temptations of a world of wickedness. You are now within a 
holy temple ; a temple under the prntection of saints. During your novi- 
tiate you will be submissive and penitent, and if we find you, as I doubt 
not we shall, fitting the vocation of a Nun, you will then be permitted to 
take, the black vows, a religious rank which is attainable to but few. Sweet 
child, a repose of happiness and communion with the saints in this life, and 
a certainty of heavenly joys in the world to come, will be thine, if you con- 
form to the duties of a recluse. Follow me.’ 

The Abbess led her through a narrow hall into a long dark room, and 
having halted before a large crucifix, with a dim taper standing beside it, 
she caused Cecile to kneel, saying, 

‘ Know ye that the emblem of salvation before you is constructed of the 
bones of a holy saint !’ 

‘ Of what saint ?* 

‘ Question not my child ; you will learn all hereafter. Arise ! I now in- 




21 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

vest you with this garb of purity and piety ; kiss it ; it has been conse- 
crated by one of the holy fathers of the church. This,’ continued she, 
presenting her with a rosary of beads, ‘ will prevent you from being assail- 
ed by the evil spirit, who is ever hovering around the good and the beau- 
tiful.’ 

A small bell was now heard, and Cecile was conducted to the refectory 
and presented to the sisters, who embraced her and welcomed her arrival. 
Prayers to the saints and adorations to the Virgin were now performed in 
latin. All knelt and kissed the floor, Cecile imitating their example. At a 
signal they seated themselves at the table, upon which a scanty meal was 
prepared. One of the Nuns repeated in rapid tones — ‘In nomine domini 
nostri Jesu Christe,’ when all crossed themselves and responded ‘Amen.’ 

When evening came, Cecile was conducted to the sleeping apartment as- 
signed her, which for dimensions and convenience, would have compared 
well with the narrow space usually allotted to the denizen of a rnad-house. 
On reaching it some words of surprise involuntarily escaped her, when she 
was lightly reprimanded by her attendant, and advised to kiss the floor, as 
a penance, and to say her ‘Hail Marys,’ in Latin, of which the following is 
an English version : 

‘ Hail, Mary ! full of Grace ! the Lord is with thee ! Blessed art thou 
among thy sex, and blessed is thy offspring, Jesus! Holy Mary ! Mother 
of God ! pray for us, sinners, now and at the hour of death. Amen.’ 

Cecile was now left alone to contemplate the novel events of the day, to 
wonder why an apartment, destitute of comforts, should be assigned her, 
while the young ladies of the school were provided with every requisite 
convenience, and to seek that repose which her almost exhausted frame 
required. She, however, did not again murmur, but commending herself 
to the saints, reclined upon the hard and narrow couch. Sleep did not 
close her eyelids until alter the bell of Angelus rung. Her mind was too 
active in meditating upon the step she had taken ; she could not avoid con- 
trasting the happy home of her mother with the cheerless, desolate home 
of the recluse ; neither could she suppress an occasional thought of him who 
had aw'akened love’s young dream in her susceptible heart. She now felt 
lonely, and yet thought she ought to feel happy, as she had sacrificed the 
pleasures of youth for the i)afli of the saints which led to the Eternal 
World! 

Three months passed away. During the day the same monotonous rou- 
tine of duty, and at night her slumbers were disturbed by disagreeable 
visions; and although she deemed it a grievous sin to cherish thoughts of 
disappointment and regret, yet she clung with tenacity to the hope of still 
experiencing the felicity W'hich had been promised, and her feelings revolt- 
ed at the idea of again returning to the world. 

One morning when she awoke from her dreamy slumbers she was startled 
at beholding, in a devotional attitude beside her couch, the figure of Padre 
Francis, who was mumbling over a Latin prayer, with his eyes turned up- 
on the gloomy walls of the chamber. Her first impulse was to tell the bold 
intruder to leave the room, but perceiving him still zealous in his devotions 
she quieted the alarming apprehensions which flitted through her brain. 
At length the monk turned his eyes slowly towards her, with a lascivious 
expression gleaming from them, wdiich caused her to shrink with hoiTor, 
and to hide her features beneath the covering of her couch. 

‘ Fear not, sister Cecilia !’ said the wily monk. ‘ The saints protect you ; 
‘ You did not appear at the ringing of the Angelus, and 1 was sent to awa- 
ken you with a prayer to the Blessed Virgin.’ 

‘ Is it not a strict law of the Convent that no person shall enter another’s 
apartment without giving three raps upon the door and wait until a response 
be given ?’ demanded Cecile in a stern voice. 


22 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

‘ That is the rule, sister,’ replied Padre Francis, softly. ‘But the Lady 
Abbess and your humble confessor are exempt from this rule.’ 

‘ I pray you leave me. I am ill.’ 

‘ Pray to the saints, dear sister, and acknowledge your heartfelt gratitude 
to them that you are no longer among the wicked of the world. I came to 
hear your confession, and assist in preparing yqur mind for the vows- of the 
Black Veil!’ 

‘Not here ! not here !’ said Cecile, earnestly. ‘ I cannot consent that my 
sleeping apartment should be devoted to such a purpose! Leave me! 1 
implore you ! I will prepare myself and meet you at the confessional.’ 

‘ I Conform to thy wishes,’ said the monk as he left the apartment. 

In half an hour Cecile was kneeling at the feet of Padre Francis, who 
was seated in the confessional, arrayed in the robes of his office. 

‘ Peace be with thee, dear sister ! I commend thy punctuality. Of such 
as thee are the Sisters of St. Ursula. Speak thy sins !’ 

‘1 have sinned daily and hourly. My thoughts are not constantly of a ho- 
ly nature. I have dared to think of home, of my dear mother, and of oth- 
ers whom I love. I have even dared to wish myself among them !’ 

‘ A natural sin,’ replied the confessor. ‘But with the power vested in me 
from Heaven, whose vicegerent I am, I absolve thee from this wickedness. 
Sin no more ! Keep your thoughts upon the heavenly boon offered to the 
righteous ! and when visions of the world mingle with your pious thoughts, 
think only of its dangers and temptations— its vexations and privations — the 
trials, to be endured, ever attendant upon mankind, and especially u})ori fe- 
males ! If unmarried, they are beset with a thousand snares to undermine 
their virtue, and thus rendering them unfit for a happy state hereafter. If 
wedded, a woman is at best but a slave to her husband and offspring; and 
even when surrounded with the comforts which render life supportable, 
she makes herself miserable by suspecting the infidelity of her husband, or 
believing him to be jealous of her. Therefore, set not thy affections on 
worldly things — not even on thy parents or kindred. Pray only that they 
may be redeemed — that they may behold thee among the favored of the 
heavenly paradise. Survey the tranquil felicity of a life of seclusion under 
the benificent influence of the saints, who will be thy watchful guardians 
beneath this consecrated roof. I recommend to thee to receive the black 
vows immediately on the expiration of thy novitiate. Then w ill the glori- 
ous intercession of the saints and of all deceased Nuns continually be 
made before the Heavenly Throne. . The felicity, unmingled with a single 
regret, which you will enjoy as a Nun of the Black Veil, reflect seriously 
upon ; the harmony and sisterly affection which reigns among those who 
have been invested with the privilege, are far, far above all the unity and 
love of the world ; even the love of a mother for her offspring, surpasses • 
not the devotedness of a Nun for her sister!’ 

‘ May Heaven give me strength and impress my mind with the truth of 
what you have uttered !’ 

‘ Amen !’ responded Padre Francis. ‘ The blessed privileges of the clois- 
ter are inestimable ; the glorious honor, too, of becoming a ‘Spouse of Je- 
sus Christ,’ instead of sinful man, should inspire thee with joy and gladness, 
and cause thee to pray for the happy hour when thy novitiate shall cease.’ 

In this impious manner did the dissembling monk picture forth to the 
susceptible heart of the truly pious novice, the felicitous and tranquil life 
of a recluse. He did not mar the flattering picture by recounting the mis- 
eries of many of those who had already renounced the world, and who were 
at that moment lingering, with that certain destroyer consum])tion, at the 
portal of the Eternal World. He did nottell her of the suicidal and abom- 
inable sacrifice she would have to make at the shrine of a monstrous and 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


23 


intolerable superstition. Neither did he recount to her that Nuns seldom 
enjoyed the blessings of piety, religion, or happiness ; that, instead of expe- 
riencing the contentment and joys which this life affords to the moral and 
virtuous, disappointment and despair, the torture of desires which they are 
compelled either to conceal or subdue, will be their portion, and at the 
same time unfitting their minds for the rites and ceremonies of the religious 
vocation which, by its vows, they are bound to practice almost unceasingly. 
Nor did the monk state the reasons which induced him to use all his arts 
of persuasion, and even extraneous means, to persuade the lovely Gecile to 
become a Nun of the Order of St. Ursula! 





24 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Arrival at the Cottage. Strange Metamorphose. Interesting 
Denouement. 


Since we left Frederick Gray and John Melville at the cottage door after 
their accidental encounter and strange interview, we have, in the two last 
chapters, introduced several of our dramatis personc^, and narrated incidents 
which occurred during the year anterior to that event. This retrocession 
we deemed essential to the intelligible development of our story. We have 
now a clear field before us,and hope that we shall not again be compelled to 
retrograde for the purpose of bringing up lagging characters or straggling 
events. 

A distant bell was tolling the hour of nine, when Gray raised the old 
brass knocker and gave three raps on the door of the vine-covered cottage 
of Mrs. Melville, and as those well-remembered sounds once more vibrated 
upon the sailor’s ear, they caused a thrilling sensation through his frame, 
and his heart beat with double rapidity and distinctness. A servant came 
to the door, and Gray, followed slowly by his rugged-looking friend, were 
conducted to the parlor, where Mrs. Melville was seated alone. 

‘ Good evening, Mrs. Melville,’ said Gray. ‘ Excuse me for calling at so 
late an hour.’ 

‘You are welcome, Frederick, at all hours,’ replied the lady, as she ap- 
proached him, and extended her hand ; at the same time casting a curious 
glance towards the downcast looking sailor, who had not yet raised his 
eyes from the floor. 

Gray now introduced Jack as a particular friend of his wdio had just ar- 
rived from a long cruise at sea. 

‘Your frend is also welcome,’ said Mrs. Melville. 

Jack’s heart was too full to speak. He longed to declare his nanie and 
throw himself into his mother’s arms, but he feared the effects of so sudden 
an exposure, and without making an audible sound he simply bowed his 
head, and scraped his right foot upon the floor, allowing his tarpaulin to 
follow the same direction, after the true nautical style of obeisance. They 
were now requested to be seated, when Gray asked permission of Mrs. 
Melville to allow his friend to remain for a few days under her roof. The 
request seemed singular to her, as the home of Frederick was not far dis- 
tant and they must have {)assed it, thought she, on their way to her cottage. 
But, notwithstanding, she felt that she could refuse nothing that Frederick 
Gray might ask, and readily assented to his proposal. 

Some refreshnients were now prepared for her new guest, of which he 
slightly partook, and Frederick, after promising Jack that he would rejoin 
him in the morning, took his leave. 

Early the following day, two large iron-bound trunks and several boxes 
were landed at the cottage, with the information that they belonged to the 
sailor stranger who had arrived there on the evening previous. Mrs. Mel- 
ville acquainted her guest with their arrival, who iinmediately, without ask- 
ing permission of his hospitable hostess, conveyed them into the house. 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 25 

One of them he opened, and taking therefrom a cachemire shawl, of ex- 
ceeding richness, he presented it to Mrs. Melville, at the ^me time inform- 
ing her that he had brought it from Stamboul. 

‘I never beheld anything so beautiful,’ said the lady, ‘but I cannot ac- 
cept it.’ • 

‘ You must not refuse, madam. It’s nothing compared to the presents 
I have selected from various parts of the world for my friends,’ replied the 
sailor. 

‘ You have been a great traveller for one so young said she, inquiringly. 

‘ I have, indeed.’ 

‘ Do your parents reside in this section of the country 

‘My father was lost at sea; but my dear mother 1 am happy to know is 
alive and in the enjoyment of good health.’ 

‘ Lost at sea did you say ? The coincidence is indeed a singular one !’ 
remarked Mrs. Melville, as the tears started into her eyes. ‘ My husband 
was also lost at sea ! The vessel in which he sailed was never heard from 
after leaving port!’ 

‘ Then with you, madam, I can sympathise. I learned from my friend 
Gray that you lost a son also 

‘ Yes I’ replied she, sobbirigly. ‘ He shared the fate of his father! My 
poor boy! He was but twelve years of age!’ 

‘ How know you but that your son yet lives ?’ 

‘ Eleven long years have now elapsed and no tidings of the ill-fated ves- 
sel have yet come to hand. I lived in hope for many years, and then strove 
to draw a veil over the past. But all in vain. Their departure, their last 
words, the parting kiss, still are impressed upon my memory as strongly as 
if of yesterday’s occurrence.’ 

‘ But, madam, it is not improbable that your son still lives !’ 

‘ Teach me not to hope. Oh ! would that he might be alive ; that I might 
gaze upon him once more; whether in yjrosperity or in adversity, the knowl- 
edge of his being among the living would be happiness indeed. I would 
fly to the Indies, or to the wilds of Tartary, but to see my darling boy once 
again.’ 

‘ You need not go so fur. Your son I have good reason to believe yet 
lives !’ 

‘ Sir stranger! What mean you ? Say you that my poor boy lives Do 
not bid me hope without you have full knowledge of what you intimate ! 

‘ God forbid that I should excite one desire in your heart that cannot be 
fully realized. You would not know him, perhaps, should you now see him 
Eleven years must have made a material alteration in his personal ap- 
pearance. He left you a boy — he must now have attained man’s stature.’ 

‘ Yes ! but there is one thing by which 1 should recognize him at a glance, 
however greatly his features and figure might have changed. He had a 
scar upon the upper part of his high forehead; besides, he had glossy black 
hair, wliich curled naturally around his head.’ • 

‘ Did he wear any memento about him which you might’ now describe ?’ 

‘Yes! yes!’ said she, gazing at the stranger with an expression of eager- 
ness. ‘dll the day of his departure his little sister, Cecile ’. Here the 

afdicted mother hesitated, and burying her face in her handkerchief, wept 
in sorrow as the image of her lost Cecile flitted across her mind, while the 
manly stranger turned_jtoward the window to conceal similiar emotions. — 
Yes!’ continued she, after a short elapse ; ‘his little sister placed a chain, 
braided from her own raven tresses, around his neck, and bade him, as he 
loved her, to wear it constantly for her sake. Attached to the chain was a 
silver crucifix, studded with pearls, which had been given to her, and which 
she had herself worn until she bestowed the precious memento upon her 
brother.’ 


26 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


The stranger loosened his nautical jacket, and taking a chain and crucifix 
from his neck,- and handed it to Mrs. Melville. 

‘ Heaven be praised ! It is the same !’ exclaimed she, wildly. ‘My son ! 
my son ! Where is he ? How came you by this ? I pray you speak out! 
Keep me notin an agony of suspense! Lead me to him! I intreat of 
thee !’ 

The sailor with the quickness of thought threw off his rough-looking ha- 
biliments, displaying to her view a strange costume emblazoned with jew- 
els, and a gold crescent inlaid with diamonds hanging upon his left breast. 
He then tore from his head a brown wig of long-knotted hair, and throw- 
ing aside the black curls which partially concealed his ample forehead, the 
well-remembered scar was revealed to her astonished gaze. 

‘My son! my son!’ screamed Mrs*. Melville and fell, faintingly, into his 
arms !’ 

‘ # # . # * # # #*'' # 






THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


27 


CHAPTER V. 


Melville’s Narrative continued. Visit to the Palace of the 
Sultan. Mahmoud’s Generosity. A Hero and a Mussulmaun. — 

ZiLLAH, THE BrIDE OF MeLVILLE. DEPARTURE FROM CONSTANTINO- 
PLE. The Capture. Algiers. Zillah a Slave ! The Pursuit. 
Arrival in Boston. 

After the first ebullition of excited feeling had subsided, and Mrs. Mel- 
ville was restored from the effects of so unexpected a surprise, Frederick 
Gray walked into the apartment, and was somewhat startled at beholding 
the graceful and noble officer, who greeted him warmly upon his entrance, 
arrayed in a rich afid elegant Oriental costume. 

‘My dear friend, I am glad you have come to share our joy,’ said Melville 
grasping the hand of Gray. 

‘ 1 am happy to participate with you 'in your happiness,’ he replied'. — 

‘ May you always be thus.. The metamorphose of your person from a Yan- 
kee sailor to an officer of the Sublime Porte, reminds me of your past elev- 
en years’ history, a part of which you have already favored me with.’ 

‘Ah !’ said Melvilie, sighing. ‘ Would to Heaven that I could blot out 
from my memory many incidents contained in the sequel, I should then 
have less cause for regret.’ 

‘My son,’ said Mrs. Melville, ‘however painful your histoiy may be 1 
would learn it all, even from the beginning.’ 

At this request, Melville repeated that portion of his history he had re- 
lated to Gray on their first interview. We accordingly resume the narra- 
tive where it was broken oflT. 

“On the morning subsequent to our arrival in the capitol of the proud 
Osmanlis, the Pasha was summoned to appear before Sultan Mahmoud. 
Zillah and myself were commanded to accompany him. The Pasha or- 
dered his yaraba, or Turkish coach, in which We were conveyed to the land- 
ing place on the Bosphorus; from thence we embarked on board a magnif- 
icent caique, or barge, propelled by six oarsmen, whose exertions caused the 
graceful boat to glide over the waters with the swiftness of the wind. In an 
incredible short space of time, we were under the terraced gardens of Beg- 
lierbey, the summer palace of the mighty Mahmoud, and after passing 
through a line of the Sultan’s guards, we ascended into the halls of this 
most gorgeous specimen of Eastern architecture. Presently we were ush- 
ered into the presence of the monarch, who was reclining upon a pile of 
soft pillows, smoking his magnificent amber-mouthed chibouk. Beside him 
stood half a dozen white slaves ready to obey his commands, and near the 
huge bowl of his pipe stood two black chiboukjhes, who from time to time 
threw into the pipe a silver-ladle full of the richly scented weed. The Pa- 
sha approached him, and after the selam cdekim, or Moslem salutation, I was 
presented to his Mighty Highness.’ 

‘ Mashallah !’ exclaimed the Sultan. ‘ Is this the youth who saved thy 
life, Pasha 

The Pasha crossed his hands and bowed reverently. 


28 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

‘ And who performed such feats of valor at Navai'ino ? 

‘The same!’ replied Mehemet EfFendi. 

‘ Shekiur Allah !’ ejaculated Mahmoud. ‘ Why he’s but a child . and he 
looks like a Christian I But he has the heart of a man, and the soul of a 
true Mussulmaun ! He shall have promotion I Here, Seraskier I’ turning to 
an elderly Turk, ‘ cause a Captain’s commission to be executed for the 
young Frank! Thus does the Sultan reward bravery !’ 

The Pasha, in my behalf, acknowledged the high honor he had conferred 
upon me, and in language, too eulogistic and hyperbolical for me to repeat, 
recounted all I had performed during the cruise. 

‘ Inshallah ! He shall have gold too !’ exclaimed the Sultan. 

‘ Your Highness has done me too much honor already,’ said I, modestly. 

^ Bosh! boshP (nothing) replied he. ‘You have done us greater service 
than all the officers of the fleet combined.’ 

A bag of gold was now brought in by the Seraskier, who laid it at my 
feet. The Sultan then presented me with this badge of honor, which I now 
wear upon my left breast. He then turned his eyes towards Zillah, who 
stood beside her father, with her features, excepting her sparkling black 
eyes, concealed beneath the folds of a diamond bordered yashmac, or veil. 
As if he had penetrated the hearts of Zillah and myself, and divined our 
most ardent wishes, he immediately asked me if any other gift from his 
royal hands would be acceptable to me, at the same time alternately 
glancing his eyes from her to me. 

‘Your Imperial Highness,’ said I, ‘would confer honor and happiness up- 
on me by granting permission that Zillah shall become rny bride !’ 

‘ You have our consent, valorous Frank, and I judge from the complacen- 
cy of our faithful Mehemet Eflendi, that his heart approves the union. Do 
I not speak aright, noble Pasha?’ 

‘Allah knows that the Mighty Sultan Mahmoud ever speaks wisdom and 
truth !’ replied the Pasha. ‘ But the valorous Frank was born in a Christian 
land. Let the youth but pronounce the Mussulmaun’s creed, and my daugh- 
ter is his !’ 

Zillah’s eyes were turned imploringly upon me ; but my early religious 
impressions caused me to hesitate. 

‘1 require a little time to reflect upon the condition,’ said I. 

‘ Allah be with you,’ said the Sultan. ‘ In ten days decide. Meanwhile 
examine well the creed of all True Believers !’ 

We now took leave of the Turkish Sultan, and in a few moments our 
brightly gilded caique, dazzling in the sunbeams, was darting over the blue 
waters of the Bosphorus like a meteor blazing athwart the blue expanse 
above. On arriving at the pier, from whence we had embarked, we found 
the Pasha’s yaraha in waiting for us, attended by his slaves ; and as we pas- 
sed through the streets of the great Oriental city, the air was rent with ac- 
clamations, which I siqiposed was in honor of the favorite Pasha of the 
Sultan, but afterwards learned with astonishment that these demonstrations 
of approbation were conferred upon his intended son-in-law ; whose deeds 
I m ist confess were bruited among ihe Constaiitinopolitans marvellously 
exaggerated. Thus was I made a favorite of the Sultan and a hero of the 
populace on the same day ; and if, in addition to these, I could have had 
an unconditional promise of becoming the loved lord of the beautiful Zil- 
lah, my happiness would have been complete. But the idea of embracing 
Islamism, although I was quite ignorant of its principles or precepts, was 
in some degree revolting to my feelings. Acting, however, upon the man- 
date of the Sultan, I commenced the task of making myself conversant 
with the creed of the ‘ True Believer,’ and although some points of their 
religion seemed rather incongruous and fancifully extravagant, yet the mor^ 
al precepts it inculcated, and the conscientious zeal and good faith of its vo- 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 29 

taries, made a fjivorable impression upon my mind. Besides, I had but a 
vague perception of the Christian’s creed ; my early religious injpressions 
having become indistinct and partially effaced from my memory. Zillah 
was my constant companion, and, from her I learned my first lessons. It 
was not strange then, that at the expiration of the ‘ ten days,’ I was a believ- 
er in Islamism ; and in the mosque of the Sultan I repeated all that is re- 
quisite to become a Mussul maun, viz : 

‘ La illah, ilia Mohammed Resoul Allah I — There is but one God and Ma- 
homet is the Prophet of God !’ 

Great was the joy manifested on the occasion in the Pasha’s palace, and, 
indeed, the event was a matter of congratulation throughout the city, Zil- 
lali became my affianced, but not until I had returned from a successful 
cruise against Greek pirates, did she become my bride ! The joyous event 
was celebrated with all the pomp and splendor incident to the wedding of 
a Prince. One year afterwards the command of a frigate was given me, 
and I was ordered to the Meditteranean. Zillah accompanied me. We 
had been but a few weeks at sea, when we were attacked by a fleet of Al- 
gerine piratical vessels and captured. We were taken to Algiers and by 
command of the Dey, were heavily ironed and confined in separate cells 
in the castle. From one of the guards of the prison I learned to my inex- 
pressible horror that my beloved Zillah had been sold at the slave mart to 
a Spanish captain ! After a few weeks imprisonment I was summoned to 
appear before the Dey, when it was announced to me that I had been ran- 
somed by the Turkish government, and that a vessel was then in the harbor 
ready to take me to Constantinople. Before we left, howevei^ I ascertained 
that Zillah had been purchased by Don Cervanti Carrero, a merchant of 
Lisbon, whose vessel had sailed for that port, and I proposed to^'the Turkish 
commander to go in pursuit of her. But his orders were perem])tory and 
of course he was inexorable, and I reluctantly went on board the ship. — 
We had a quick passage and on our arrival in the harbor of Constantino- 
ple, my father-in-law, the Pasha, came alongside in his caique, to welcome 
our return. He had not heard of the fate of Zillah, and great was his sor- 
row when I informed him. He anticipated my wishes by requesting me 
to go in pursuit of her : accordingly he fitted out a fast sailing ship, gave 
me a crew of picked men, besides a large sum of money and a quantity of 
other valuables ; and in less than a week we took our departure for Spain. 
On arriving at Lisbon, I made enquiries respecting Don Manuel Carrero, 
and learned to my regret that he had, six weeks previously, sailed for Ha- 
vre. Thither we followed him, and at this port learned that his vessel had 
cleared for Liveri)Ool, and from thence he was to proceed to the United 
States, but to what port it was impossible to ascei tain. I sailed for New 
York but no Spanish vessel had recently arrived there, neither could I find 
his ship reported in any of the Shipping Lists of the principal ports. I at 
length resolved to sail for Boston, and there await until a reasonable time 
should elapse for Don Carrero’s arrival. I dropped anchor in Boston har- 
bor yesterday afternoon, arrived here last evening, and made myself known 
to my dear mother this morning. Thus ends my past history. Now, I 
hav^ two great objects to accomplish — to rescue my sister Cecile from a 
living grave — and to free my beloved Zillah from Spanish slavery ! These 
things accomplished I shall return to my adopted country, where wealth 
and distinction await me.” 

‘ Your narrative is quite romantic as well as interesting,’ said Frederick 
Gray. 

‘ Wait for the sequel, my friend. The events n embryo I have a forebo- 
ding will be startling indeed!’ 

‘ What mean you, my son .^’ ejaculated Mrs. Melville, apprehensively. 

^ Fear not, my dear mother,’ resumed Melville. ‘ Cecile must be res- 


30 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

tored to you — to be a comfort to you in your declining \ears, and be herself 
happy.’ 

‘Rut I am assured by the Abbess of the Convent that she is now perfect- 
ly happy, and that she looks forward with pleasure to the day appointed 
for her receiving the black vows.’ 

j[ Her assurances are false, mother !’ exclaimed Melville. ‘There never 
yet existed a happy Nun\ Yet there may have been those, who, after en- 
during severe disappointments, perhaps reduced to extreme wretchedness, 
that have found a refuge in the cloister comparatively happy! But for Ce- 
cile, whose life has been calm as an unclouded sky, to be immured in a dun- 
geon — not allowed to gaze upon the green fields, the bright heavens, and 
all of nature’s glorious works — not even permitted to see the loved faces of 
her friends — it is preposterous! No, mother ! Cecile is nof happy ! She is 
under some strange infatuation ! The spell shall be broken ! And may I 
be the humble instrument, in the hands of God, to accomplish it!’ 

‘You speak the words of truth, Melville,’ said Gray. ‘1 will second you, 
and I here promise to devote my undivided efforts in behalf of Cecile, un- 
til our object be attained, or her rescue is past hope !’ 

‘ Thank you, Frederick. I shall need your assistance.’ 

‘Do not, I intreat of vou,’ said Mrs. Melville, ‘do any wrong!’ 

‘Fear not, mother. Come to my room Fred — I must throw off my eas- 
tern costume and resume the garb in which you saw me yesterday. We 
can there talk over matters. Mother, you must excuse us — we shall be 
with you again in a short time. Have no idle apprehensions with regard to 
our buiiiness — all will yet be well.’ 

‘I have assurances that you will do no wrong ; and I doubt not your good 
judgment will lend you discretion,’ said Mrs. Melville.’ 

Melville and Gray went into an adjoining room and held a consultation 
of some two hours in length. The substance of which formed a daring 
conspiracy to free Cecile from the Nunnery, which our future pages win 
fully disclose. 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


31 


CHAPTER VI. 

The Credulous Irishaian and the Incredulous Scotchman. Mirac- 
ulous Performances of the Saints. Timely Intrusion of the 

Sailor. A ‘ drap of the Craythur.’ The secret Spring and the 

SUBTERRANEAN PASSAGE. 

Connected with the Convent was an extensive and beautiful garden, 
which was under the supervision of an eccentric Scotchman, who had just 
arrived ‘ fra the Land o’ Cakes,’ and ‘ bald John Barleycorn.’ He was ap- 
pointed to this important post, more on account of his being a most excel- 
lent gardener, than for his skepticism in the infallibility of the Pope, or in 
the pardoning powder of Padre Francis. Mr. Archy McDougal — for this 
was his name — soon gained an intimacy with Mr. Phelim O’Toole, who 
staled himself ‘ Porter of Mount Benedict.’ Phelim was a truly devotional 
churchman, and ‘ barrin’ the takin’ a drap o’ the crathur now and thin,’ his 
habits were good ; and never did the most zealous revivalist work harder 
than did Phelim, to make a convert of his companion Archy. Many were 
the hours they spent together under the shade of an elm-tree at the foot of 
the terraced garden, and many were the wonderful stories and mighty mir- 
acles of St. Patrick and other saints that Phelim related to Archy. There 
was nothing too marvellous or miraculous for Phelim ; he religiously be- 
lieved all he had ever heard, and in the benevolence of his heart he deter- 
mined that Archy should have all the benefit resulting from them. But he 
‘ cast his pearls before swine.’ The Scotchman was obstinate. He would 
not believe and be converted by the Irishman’s endeavors, who, unlike 
many of his spiritual Padres, acted from the sincerity of his heart. 

One pleasant evening, after the toils of the day were concluded, Archy 
and Phelim were seated in their favorite spot conversing upon matters 
touching the Ursuline community, the substance of which we shall endeav- 
or to give in their cwn dialects. 

‘You wadna be sayin’, said the Scotchman, ‘that the gracefu’ bonnie las- 
sie, wi’ the dark blue e’e an’ the braw curls, is to tak’ the black veil ? 

‘ Why not, Misthur McDougal, why not replied Phelim. ‘Shore’s she’s 
a beautiful crathur to make a Nun out of— now isn’t she ? Och, by the pow- 
ers, Saint Pathrick himself, who was a divil ov a saint among the gals, niv- 
er seed the likes ov her. Good luck to Father Francis and the ould lady 
for their "cess in makin’ sich an iligant addition to the Sisthurs of the Con- 
vent !’ 

‘ Alake ! waefu’ day,’ replied Archy, ‘that she sees that beautiful crop o’ 
braw curly hair shaven fra’ her crown !’ 

‘Shure! Misthur McDougal, you wouldn’t have the pretty crathur be af- 
ther descendin’ into purgatory ?’ 

‘ An’ wi’ she na suffer ’mang the lean waefu’ lookin’ saunts o’ the black 
veil, muckle the same as in purgatory .^’ ejaculated the Scotchman with an- 
imation. ‘ Don’t ye ken she’ll not e’en get her parritch, an ha’ naethin’ but 
the old lady’s apple peelins to prie. She better gang awa to her minnie, 
who amaist cries her e’ea out for her pretty bairn’s sake.’ 


32 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

‘ Powers of Heaven !’ exclaimed Phelim ; ‘ defind me from hearing sich 
heresies in the garden of the saints, Misthnr McDougal. Out wid ye, ye 
Scotch blackguard ! If ye be not keerful what ye be afther spakiri’ in yer 
outlandish blarney, you’ll shure be sarved as Saint Pathrick sarved the 
blacksmitli, and bad ’cess to the likes ov ye, ye wicked clodhopper as ye 
are !’ 

‘Cannatell me how that was. Mister O’Toole ?’ asked Archy, entirely 
disregarding the imgentlemanly epithets which the Irishman so lavishly 
bestowed upon him. 

‘ Jist listen a bit an’ I’ll be afther tellin’ ye all aboot it, Misthur McDou- 
gal. Ye see as how Saint Pathrick, who could handle a shillalela better 
than any ither saint in the calendar— och ! he was the boy for that, shure — 
sent his ould white horse to Doody, the blacksmith, to have him shod. Now 
Doody was an awful wicked crathur; he would sware an oath as big the 
bible enny day. While Doody was druving the nails into the ould horse’s 
foot, who should be crapin’ along by the blacksmith’s door but Saint Path- 
rick himself, who heard Doody sayin’ some wicked blarney to the horse. 
‘Och! ye blackguard!’ says the Saint to himself. ‘I’ve cotched ye in yer 
wicked way, ye ould sinner. Ye’d be afther contaminating my innocent 
baste, would ye, ye spalpeen ? I’ll fix yer flint for ye directly?’ So the 
Saint crapt slily up to Doody’s window, in sich a manner that Doody didn’t 
git a glimpse ov him, but the ould horse did. So Saint Pathrick tips the 
horse a bit ov a wink, which the animal understhood jist as well as his 
masther. The horse pricked up his ears, and every time the blacksmith 
swore he made a loud noise that frightened poor Doody almost out ov his 
siven sinses; but it only made Doody sware louder than iver. And afther 
he had druv all but the last nail in his hinder foot, he cursed Saint Path- 
rick, whin the horse guv him sich a kick, that sint Dood}’^ with his hammer, 
nails and all, right thro’ the shop, and they have niver since bin heard of, 
and if ye don’t believe me ye can go an’ see the hole which Doody broke 
thro’ the wall to this very day.’ 

‘ O haith !’ exclaimed the incredulous Scotchman. ‘ Saint Patrick must 
ha’ been a menseless loun himsel’ to treat a poor smithy so vera unkind ; 
but it’s a’ a humboog !’ 

‘ Och I ye Scotch bogtrotter ! I tell ye it’s thrue ivery word of it. It’s 
thrue as the thruth ov Saint Pathricks druving all the sarpints, snakes and 
toads, and other sich kind o’ bastes, out ov swate Ireland, and not one ov 
the same iver dare step a foot within its bordhers to this day,’ replied Phe- 
lim. 

‘Canna believe your big stories, inon. There’s nae raison in any one o’ 
them.’ 

‘Then I’ll be afther tellin’ ye anither that ye’ll shurely believe,’ resumed 
Phelim. ‘ I’ts more thruer than aither ov the others. Spaking of Saint 
Pathrick for no other saint could do the likes ov him. I’ll tell you what St. 
Dennis did who was fourteenth cousin to Saint Pathrick’s half sister on 
his mither’s side, and he wur a broth ov a boy for handlin’ a shillela too, 
that same Saint 1 was spakin’ aboot. One day whin he wur walkin’ by the 
side ov the river, some heretic soldiers capthiired Saint Dennis and cut his 
head off, and it rolled into the wather, and this saint being a good swimmer 
— for he could bate Saint Pathrick swimmin’ ony day — jumped in afther it, 
and cotchin’ his own head at ween his teeth, he swum across the river, and 
whin he reached the other side, he stuck his head upon his shoulders, and it 
frozed on, for it wur an awful cold day one night in the middle of June! 
The soldiers wur so stonished at beholdin’ the sight that they niver harmed 
a saint afther that.’ 

‘ Mar conscience, Mister O’Toole. I wadna tell sic unco stories fora’ the 
warld.’ 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 33 

‘ Thruth, Misthcr McDougal, iveiy word — there’s nothing impossible for 
saints to do. There was Saint Vincent— he was a divil ov a boy for doing 
up the miraculous — he performed a miracle that you’ll be surprised to hear, 
for it’s as jist as thrue as the thruest one I iver told. This saint was in the 
habit of doing so many miraculous things that the Church forbid him doing 
ony more miracles without consint. So one day whin he was walking 
by the Dublin cathedral, he saw’ a hod-carrier, mortar, bricks and all, failin’ 
from one ov the high towers. Wishing to save the poor man’s life, and not 
having the Church’s consint to save him, he tould him to hold on a bit 
while he could run to the bishop to git a dispinsation. So Saint Dennis 
took to his heels and run — there was none ov the likes of Saint Dennis for 
running — and left the hod-carrier, mortar, bricks and all, suspinded atween 
heaven an airth : and it wur indeed a beautiful sight to see the man sittin’ 
astraddle the air, with nothing at all a’tall to stand upon. Presently Saint 
Dennis cums runnin’ back, and he lowered down the hod carrier, mortar, 
bricks and all, jist as aisy as if they had been made of feathers !’ 

‘ Oh, mar conscience, Misther O’Toole, you’re one blellum,’ said Archy, 
indignantly. ‘ And w'^ad ye think me sic a fool as to believe yer miracles ; 
ye mak deevils out o’ the saunts, ’stead o’ guid honest Christians.’ 

‘ Bad luck to ye and all heretical unbelievers, say I, Misthur McDougal. 
You’ll wake up one o’ these hot mornings, and be afther finding yourself 
roastin’ in purgatory, if ye doesn’t reform and believe in the saints and the 
holy miracles which they performed.’ 

‘ Na, mon,’ replied the Scotchman. ‘ Yer miraclous stories are a’ like the 
miracle o’ the Spanish image, who alw’aysturned his head and nodded when 
the priest said a guid thing ; but ance upon a time it wouldna move at a’, 
and the priest was unco mad and scolded. Then a voice w^as heard beneath 
the image, sayin’ — ‘The string has broken an’ it’s nae fault o’ mine !’ — 
An’ the people looked into the box on which the image was put, an’ be- 
hold a little bail’ll was found, who pu’d the string, when the priest spake 
loud, an’ turned the image’s head. This is the way ye do yer miracles, Mr. 
O’Toole.’ 

‘ By all the saints an’ St. Pathrick into the bargain, Misthur McDougal, 
yer’e a lost man. The ould sarpint will have ye for belaveing not the thruth 
and tellin’ me yer vile slander. Och ! ye blackguard, ye desarves drownin’ 
and bangin’ to, ye do yer Scotch blackguard.’ 

‘ Dinna ca’ me blackguard mair, Mr. O’Toole,’ said McDougal, angrily. 

‘ An wur it but blackguard that I said ? Ye’re not only that, but ye’re the 
divil’s own son, ye are, ye clodhopper.’ 

This was more than Caledonian flesh and blood could brook. Up jumped 
the insulted Scotchman, and gave the Irishman a blow aside of the head. 

‘Och! by the powers !’ exclaimed Phelim, as he jumped up and threw 
off* his coat. ‘ That’s yer game is it.^ I’ll pitch into ye, ye blackguard, like 
a streak ov litenin’ into a sand-bank ’ 

At this juncture a sailor leaped over the fence, and thrust himself between 
the belligerents. 

‘Avast there, Sawney I’ exclaimed the sailor, who was none other than 
our old friend Jack Melville, on a voyage of discovery. ‘ Before you stave 
in each other’s dead-lights, let’s know what it’s all about 

‘ Och, it’s aboot nothing- at all, Mr, Jack Tar, an’ barrin’ the crack which 
that Scotch blackguard guv me on the sconce I could forgive him,’ replied 
Phelim. 

‘ Ah, my hearties !’ said Jack ; ‘ give each other your grappling irons, and 
don’t be running afoul of each other like a pair of Dutch galliots !’ 

‘ He spake unco words aboot me, but I e’en forgi’ the mon,’ said Archy, 
his belligerent spirit being somewhat quelled. 


34 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

‘Well, Archy, let’s be afther makin’ friends,’ said Phelim. ‘ Give us yer 
hand, Misthur McDougal. 

‘ There’s my han’, Mr. O’Toole. Now dinna tell me no mair saunt hum- 
boogs. They’re warst than tales aboot ghaists.’ 

‘ Misthur Jack Tar,’ said the Irishman, turning to Melville, ‘ who gave ye 
permission to enther these beautiful grounds ?’ 

‘ Beg pardon,’ said Jack. ‘ It’s such a finely built and well-rigged estab- 
lishment, I thought I’d put in and enquire the captain’s name.’ 

‘ By my soul, that’s phoony. An’ it’s the capt bin’s name ye’d be afther 
enquiring aboot ? Misthur McDougal, d’ye hear that ?’ said O’Toole, laug- 
ing heartily. ‘ The capthin ! och ! the capthin’s a famale to be shure, Mis- 
thur Jack Tar.’ 

‘He spakes true, sailor mon,’ said the Scotchman. 

‘ An’ let me be afther tellin ye, that she’s no common famale woman,’ re- 
sumed O’Toole. ‘ It’s a saint she is !’ 

‘ Yes, mon, she’s a saunt 1’ 

‘ A saint respbnded the sailor. ‘ She isn’t the sweetheart of St. Pat- 
rick is she 

‘No, ye blackguard! It’s Saint Ursula; as pretty a piece of flesh and 
blood as ony in Christendom — that she is,’ said Phelim, emphatically. 

‘Not so braw as the young leddie who’s gang to be a Noon !’ interposed 
McDougal. 

‘Shut up yer fly-catcher, ye Scotch tale-bearer,’ said Phelim, indignantly. 

‘ Wur ye not tould to keep the saycrets ov the saints 

‘The braw leddie is nae saint. She hain’t been cropped o’ the beautiful 
clusters o’ hair that hang aboot her snaw-white neck !’ 

‘ The ould Abbess will soon do that job, let me tell ye. On St. Bartholo- 
mew’s eve her head’ll be as bald as yer ould grandmither’s, Mr. McDougal.’ 

‘ St. Bartholomew’s eve reiterated the sailor. ‘ What day of the month 
is that.?’ 

‘Ye must be a haythen not to know the days ov the saints,’ answered 
Phelim. ‘ Why it’s the twenty-fourth of August to be shure, this very 
month.’ 

‘Thank you. Just give me a drop of cold water, to mix with this Irish 
whiskey,’ said Jack, producing a bottle from his jacket pocket, ‘ and I’ll be 
off like a cutter in a gale of wind.’ 

‘And was it Irish whiskay that you said.?’ ejaculated O’Toole. ‘Niver 
let it be said that Phelim O’Toole iver refused hospitality to a stranger. — 
I’ll be afther fitching ye the swatest drap ov wather, barrin’ the w'hiskay, 
that ye iver put into yer paratee baskit.’ 

Off went Phelim and soon returned with a jug of water, and a tin-cup. 

‘Now sit down, my hearties,’ said Jack as he filled the cup with the con- 
tents of the bottle, and handed it to Mr. O’Toole. 

‘ Thank yer honor,’ said the Irishman, sipping the ardent. ‘ Och I and ’ 
faith ! it’s the raal crathiir to be shure. Ye’re a jontleman, ye are, every 
inch ov ye, and yer mither and grandmither before ye I Ah, Misthur Me- 
Dougal,’ continued Phelim, as he swallow'ed the last drop, ‘ that’s the cray- 
thur that’ll put the sperit into ye — take adrapov that same and ye’ll belave 
in all the saints directly.’ 

‘ There’s naethin’ like the Irish whiskey, except the beautiful Scotch ar- 
ticle fra’ the Heelands,’ answered McDougal, taking a pull from the cup, 
which Jack filled to the brim. 

The tin cup passed between the two foreigners several times, the effect 
of which was soon apparent through their increased volubility. Meanwhile 
Jack was gazing around the establishment with considerable interest. 

‘ A fine country seat,’ he remarked. 

‘ Ye may well say that, and Padre Francis, he’s as fine a jintleman as ye’d 


35 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

meet with ony day. An’ it would do yer heart good to see all the beautiful 
crathurs with the black veils, an’ the white veils, an’ the no veils at all. As 
for the ould woman, the mither ov all tlie dare crathurs, she’s a cross cus- 
tomer an’ no misthake.’ 

‘Ah mon,’ responded the Scotchman, ‘you spake truth then. You’ll not 
ha’ to be absolved from that sin, if ye ha’ got the wit to keep it fra’ the ould*' 
woman. 

‘ Ah ! that’s a swate drap,’ said O’Toole, after helping himself again from 
Jack’s bottle. ‘There’s no misthakin’ that whiskay ony how — it puts mein 
mind of ould Ireland. Och ! troth that’s the counthree for whiskay an’ pa- 
ratees, isn’t it Misthur McDougal ?’ 

‘ Ireland cooms next to Scotland, Mr. O’Toole.’ 

‘ Och ! ye bogtrotter — it’s the finest counthree in Christendom. Jist lis- 
ten while 1 sing to ye aboot it : 


“ Goto swate Ireland there 3'ou will see 
Ten thousand big paddies a chasin’ a flee ; 
They’ll eotch em, an’ ” 


Ah, who’d belave that I could forgit that swate song, the same that I have 
sung a thousand times at bits ov sprees in the ould counthree. I’ll be afther 
takin’ anither drap ov that* whiskay jist by the way of relrishing my memo- 
ry, Mis'thur Jack Tar. 

‘Pull away, my hearties,’ said Jack. ‘I’ve got the mate to it in my star- 
board pocket 1’ 

‘Blessins ’pon yer honor whoever ye are,’ said O’Toole, a little excited 
from the effects of the whiskey. ‘If I had Father Francis’ power I’d 
pardon all the sins that ye iver had on yer jinerous head, I would.’ 

‘ Where’s all yer messmates?’ enquired Jack. 

‘All my rnissmates did ye say? Meeself and Misthur McDougal sure 
kapes this beautiful place fray from all inthruders. And a nice aisy time 
we have ov it, barrin’ Whin the ould woman’s aboot.’, 

‘ Then you keep watch night and day 

‘ Kape watch did ye say Och ! don’t we have to kape the beautiful 
craythurs from running away ? Shure, that same we have to do. I slapes 
all night at this gate, and Misthur McDougal slapes at the ither ’un. We 
shouldn’t be slapy at all iv the ould un’ sint us a drap ov whiskay now and 
thin ; should we "Misthur McDougal. 

‘Ye spakes truth, mon.’ 

• Well, my hearties, I must bear away,’ said Jack ‘ Open your main 
hatch. I can’t leap that high wall again.’ 

‘ The likes ov ye are iver welcome to the hospitality ov Phelim O’Toole,’ 
said the Irishman, the whiskey getting the better of his discretion ; ‘an iv 
ye would coorn in at any time, push that saycret spring on the ootside, and 
ye’ll find yerself a free passage directhly.’ 

‘ Thank you,’ said Jack. Is that the door of your cabin in the bank yon- 
der ?’ 

‘ Ah ! that’s a saycret ! We call it the ice-house ; but if ye’ll niver tell 
ony body. I’ll tell ye all aboot it. ’Tis thrue that we kape the ice in it, but 
inside there’s anither door which opens with a springlike that same in the 
gate. Thin there’s a big hole which leads to the chapel of the nunnery, 
where the saints are.’ 

‘ Indeed !’ exclaimed tiie sailor. ‘ It’s a subterranean passage is it .^’ 

‘ Och ! that’s tiie very word — subbertheranean it is. And there’s the kay 
that let’s in the holy fathers of the church, and not anither sowl iver gits 

3 


.\ 


36 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA 


in while Phelim O’Toole kapes the kay round his neck, will they Misthur » 
McDougal ?’ 

‘ You speaks the truth mon !’ 

‘Well, good night, my hearties. I’ll make this port again some day,’ said 
Jack, as the gate closed behind him. 

‘ Guid e’en to you,’ responded the Scotchman. ‘ May ye ha’ guid luck 
and niver want for whiskey.’ 

‘ Good night, Misthur!’ halloed the Irishman. ‘When you coom agin don’t 
forgit to bring along the craythur wid ye !’ 

‘ Oh never fear me,’ answered Jack, as he hurried away from the garden, 
highly gratified with his interview with the porter and gardener. In a few 
moments he had reached a public house, situated on the Neck, where he had 
left his friend, Frederick Gray, awaiting his return from a tour'of observa- 
tion on Mount Benedict, 



O'// ■toi/ 





-I l . 

ilO ,.> / V 


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wyy ti; 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


37 


CHAPTER VTL 

Encountering a Cockney. A Precious Villain. A Subterranean 

Interview. Curious Profession, and a new mode of getting a 

Li viNG. Plot to burn the Convent. 

‘ What success, Jack,’ asked Gray, as he encountered his friend. 

‘All that I could have desired. I filled the Irish porter and Scotch 
gardener with whiskey, and afterwards pumped them as dry as a smoked 
herring. In other words, Fred, I have learned more concerning the Con- 
vent, within the last hour, than all its neighborhood ever knew.’ 

‘ What news of Cecile ? 

‘ Alas ! the poor girl has consented to take the black veil on St. Bartholo- 
mew’s eve. The time is near at hand. We must take advantage of the 
commotion of the incensed protestants, who are already ripe for wreaking 
their vengeance upon this accursed establishment, and only require a leader 
to march them on. My crew shall be dispersed among the populace to- 
morrow with instructions to add fuel to the flame that is already kindled. — 
I must visit the ship to-night, and prepare for future events.’ 

Melville and his friend pursued their way towards Boston, and during the 
walk the former related all the particulars of his interview with his new 
acquaintances at the Convent 

‘A seaman’s garb,’ said Melville, as he concluded, ‘ is the best disguise in 
the world to sail under.’ 

‘ Why so enquired Gray. 

‘ Simply because there is more frankness, more generosity, in fact more 
honesty among sailors, than among any other class of men I have ever 
encountered. Sailors are ever ready to lend a helping hand in cases of 
distress, and regard not their purse or their personal safety to do a noble 
action. They are careless of their property and often reckless of them- 
selves amid scenes of danger. A parsimonious sailor would be as great an 
anomaly as a pix)digal Jew.’ 

‘Your remarks undoubtedly contain much truth,’ replied Gray. ‘I have 
read and heard of the ennobling qualities of seafaring men, but it has never 
been my fortune to have many acquaintances among them.’ 

They had now reached Warren Bridge, when a remark made by one of 
two suspicious looking individuals, who w’^ere walking behind them, reached 
their ears. 

‘ I shouldn’t be surprised if they made a bonfire on Mount Benedict yet. 
D’ye hear what those coveys in the cellar said ?’ remarke<i one of the doubtful 
strangers. 

‘ Veil, I’m blowed if hi didn’t!’ said the other in true Cockney idiom. 

‘ Vot a field for our perfession. Ve could make sunimat ’andsome out ov it 
Besides, vot’s the use ov Conwents ? They does’nt do nobody no good 
henny vay,and they hisn’t henny good to the vfjmans vot lives in ’em.’ 

‘ But we should be in danger of the hemp if they nabbed us.’ 

‘Let Slippery Joe halone for that. Vosn’c I born a prig.5> Vosn’t I hedu- 
cationised bin Newgate ? and didn’t I hemigrate to this country to prac- 
tise hour perfession ?’ interrogated the cockney. 


38 


NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


‘ Then there’s to be so many fingers in the pie !’ 

‘ But they hisn’t sich fingers as hours. They goes hinto it for the public 
velfiire ; ve on our hindiwidual ’ooks. Ve shall ’ave hall the waluwables ; 
they vill ’ave hall the ’onor. Besides ve hisn’t going to burn hup the Nuns ! 
ve vill first vake ’em up, and then hinlorm ’em vot ve goes to do next — 
a gentle ’int for ’em to ewacuate the premises.’ 

‘ Well, what next ?’ 

‘ Veil, vot next?’ echoed Slippery Joe. ‘ Vy, ’asu’t you got vit enough 
to know vot next ? Von’t the vomans vant tohescape ven the Conwentson 
fire, I von’t to know? An’ then cant ve lift all the waluawable gold and 
silver crosses, beads, vatches, and bother hornameuts o’ walue ? Ov course 
ve can. You vould’nt stan’ by an’ make no heffort to prewent sich little 
harticlesfrom burnin’ vouldye ?’ 

‘ Of course not,’ replied his comrade. 

‘Veil, then, say the vord, and ve’ll go snacks. Vot say.^’ 

‘ I’ll join you.’ i 

‘Nuv ced, shake.’ 

When these worthies had reached the Boston end of the bridge, they 
separated; the cockney continuing his way directly in the rear of our hero 
and his companion, while the other disappeared through a small alley way 
which led to the wharf. Soon as Melville discovered that but one was be- 
hind him, he turned suddenly around and confronting the scheming Lon- 
doner, accosted him thus: 

- ‘ Ah ! my land-shark, how are ye ?- There’s a trifling conspiracy on foot, 
I hear. The Convent’s to be burned !' 

‘ Yer don’t say so ! Veil, I’m blow’d if this hain’t the first hintimation I’ve 
’ad ov it. I halvays gits the news halter hevery body helse,’ re})lied Mr. 
Siij)pery Joe. 

‘ Come, avast there !’ said Jack. ‘None of yer yarns now. Didn’t we hear 
the whole of the particulars from you and your messmate while cruising 
acr OSS the bridge just now ?’ 

‘ Ho, ye did, did ye ?’ ejaculated the cockney with surprise. 

‘To be.sure we did. All about your “ going snacks,” “ indiwidual ’ooks,” 
the “ crosses, beads, vatches, and bother hornaments o’ walue,” ’ mimicked 
Jack. 

‘Veil, now, that halters the case. Iv you heard vot you say, vy it’s no 
kuse harguing the pint. You vont tell none o’ the vatchmen, and bother 
hCssifers, vill ye ?’ 

‘If you’ll let us into the whole business be assured we shall keep mum,’ 
promised Jack. 

‘ VitXout von vord o’ peaching? ’Onor bright, now ? 

‘Honbt; bright!’ reiterated Jack. ‘D’ye ever know an ‘ old salt’ to break 
his word 

‘ Veil, I doesn’t know has I hever did, now I thinks ov it,’ refilled Slippe-^ 
ry Joe. ‘ (Jotif^e vith me vhere hall vill be safe, an’ I’ll hinform you hall ov' 
the particulars.\ 

The cockney Kd Melville and his friend into a small dingy looking cellar, 
some rods from thX bridge, and although quite a respectable looking woman 
and a well clad child occupied the subterranean apartment, yet it Avas quite 
destitute of articles of\comfort or convenience. Soon as they entered, the 
female took her child at\(l opened a small sliding door, which led to another 
room, entei'ed it, and slid 'the door back to its place. 

‘ Ah, my dear Vilhemina,^ said Slippery Joe, as she was retiring. ‘You 
vill yet make von wery nice^lpmate. You begins to take a ’int vithout a 
kick. That voman,’ continued he, turning to his visitors, ‘ his my darling 
vife; she’s wery hobedient and wery huseful bin conducting my’ouse’old 
affairs.’ 


t 


39 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

‘ Is this your mansion ?’ enquired Jack. 

‘ I should think it vos vhile 1 lives in it ; an a vvery conwenient ’ouse it his. 
This his my kitchen, parlor and sitting room ; that door vhere you saw the 
voman ewacna'e, his the chamber, ceilarand garret. Ve lives ’ere hin the 
’eight ov ’appiness hand ’armony. Oh, cracke^ ! vender vot my Billings- 
gate friends vould say iv they could honly look down here and see my hel- 
ewated condition. Ohl Hamerica is the country vhere gentlemen of hour 
perfession gits a livin’. 

‘ Pray, what profession do you practice asked Jack. 

‘ Vot’s that to do vith the Conwent haffair ?’ 

‘Oh, nothing, I only enquired out of mere curiosity.’ 

‘Veil, you must be wery, curious. If you’ll never diwulge I’ll tell you.’ 

‘Never, I assure you.’ 

‘I’m a general vitness.’ 

‘ A what r’ 

‘A vitness! I hattend court and takes the hoath ; then I gives hin my 
hevidence haccording to vot my client vishes me to swear to. Ven a robbe- 
ry hor a murder his committed, vy I knows hall about it, and tells hevery 
body. Ov course I his summoned, tells a good story, vich I draws pay for.’ 

‘ You must be an old scoundrel !’ renlarked Jack. ‘ But that can’t be all 
your business?’ 

‘ Ov course not,’ resumed the cockney. ‘That’s honly von branch. 1 
makes a good ’eal of tin out ov fires. You see J’se aHingine man. Ven I 
’ears the halarm ov fire, I puts lion my badge, and runs to ’elp put it hout, 
hand to save waluable property from the helement. Then ven I cums hin 
contact vith any small harticieso’ walue I puts them in my pocket, and for- 
gits to render han hacount to the sufferers.’ 

‘Do you find your business profitable just now 

‘ Veil it his dull just now — there ’asn’t bin a murder hor a ’ighvay robbe- 
ry vor three veeks. An’ has for conflagrations, they his dull too; besides 
the Hinginemen says I his a Hirapostor, and they kicks me hout. Now iv 
this plan to destroy the Conwent by a mob honly succeeds, vy I can make 
a nice vat job out ov it, and ve could^kick the Hingemen hout.’ 

‘ Well, what is the plan ?’ enquired Jack. 

‘ Vy, ’avn’t you ’card ov the great hagitaiion got up ’bout the Nun vot run 
avay hand made a hexposition 

‘No. This is new to me.’ ' 

‘ I vont to know ? Veil, it’s a vact, and there ’as been a secret meeting in 
Charlestown, and ’ave passed resolves to burn the Conwent on the night ov 
the twenty-vourth ov Haugust.’ 

‘The very night I’ exclaimed Melville to Gray. ‘We are much obliged 
to you for the information.’ 

‘ V'ell,then, in behalf ov the Wigilance Committee, T inwite you and your 
friend to bassist in the destruction ov this ’orrid Conwent.’ 

‘Thank you,’ replied Melville. ‘ We shall assuredly be there.’ 

‘Inwite hall you can henlist in the business too.’ 

‘ We shall do so. Come, Gray, let’s be moving. Good night, said Melville.’ 

‘Good hevening, gentlemen,’ answered Slippery Joe. ‘Pleasant dreams 
to you and a good many ov ’em.’ 

The cellar door closed, and Melville and Gray were once-more in the 
street, pursuing their way towards the eastern part of the city. 

‘Well, Gray, we’ve had quite an adventure ; and a precious villain we’ve 
had for a companion,’ remarked Melville.’ 

‘ True,’ replied Gray; ‘ and it appears that our plans are somewhat super- 
seded by a gang of desperate villains.’ 

‘ Then there is greater necessity for our being there — to save property and 
perhaps life from the rapacity of these incendiaries. I must impart further 


40 . THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

instructions to my crew to thwart those wlio would burn the Convent solely 
for the sake of pillaging it. Our motives are higlier and nobler. 1 would 
save my sister from irretrievable ruin and disgrace, and prevent pthers from 
being caught in the same snare.’ 

The two friends soon reached the end of India Wharf, where a small 
barge lie in waiting for them. They immediately put off for the ship which 
was lying at anchor about a mile down the harbor. When they arrived on 
board, Melville summoned the first mate to the cabin, to whom he gave the 
most minute instructions concerning the business in hand for the night or 
the twenty fourth. On enquiring how the crew were disposed towards the 
adventure, the mate replied : — ‘They are impatient for the arrival of the 
hour, and I am certain that no lack of courage or zeal will be wanting on 
their part.’ 

A luxurious banquet wasnow spread before them, and Frederick Gray, for 
the first time in his life, supped after the manner of the Orientals. , 


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THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


41 


CHAPTER Vlir. 

St. Barthoi,omevv’s DAY. Meditation of Cecile. Doubts and Appre- 
hensions. Convent Mirrors. Insulting language of Padre Fran- 
cis. The Stupefying Draught. Rich Banquet. Cecile prepared 
for ‘Taking the Veil.’ 

St. Bartholomew’s clay — the twenty-fourth of August — had at length ar- 
rived — a day made notorious to the civilized world, not only for the san- 
guinary massacre of thousands of Protestants by .the Catholics of the Old 
\V orld, at a remote period, but for the destruction of theUrsuline Convent on 
Mount Benedict, within our own time. Tlie morning was clear and bland, 
and gave promise of a goodly day. Mt. Benedict never looked more lovely 
than on the day of its desecration. The inmates of the Convent held early 
mass, and on this religious holiday, they made 

Prayer all tlicir business, all their pleasure praise.’ 

Cecile Melville, soon as the morning service was concluded, retired to her 
narrow apartment, to meditate upon that important step which would inter- 
dict forever all intercourse with her loved friends and the world. She pros- 
trated herself upon the floor and invoked the saints to free her heart from 
vain regrets, and to lead her safely through the solemn and impressive cere- 
mony of ‘ taking the veil.’ It must be Here confessed that her mind was 
disturbed by some per|)lexing apprehensions ; she had observed in the man- 
ners and actions of Padre Francis and Uie Abbess, certain things which did 
not seem |)recisely consistent with a religious life ; and she \yished in her 
heart that her novitiate might be protracted, in order that her mind might be- 
come divested of certain indefinable sensations which marred its serenity 
and piety. Her thoughts now turned back upon her early life, and they 
seemed but days of innocence and happiness ; not a dark nor unholy hour 
intervened to dim their brightness. She wondered that she had been made 
to believe that her past life had been sinful, and that her days of righteous- 
ness were those only she had passed as a Novice in the Convent. The im- 
ages of her dear mother and Frederick Gray flitted before her imagination. 
Gladly would she have had another interview with them before renouncing 
the world ; but it was now late ; she had gone too far; and in a few brief 
hours slie was to become as one dead to the world ! She had a presenti- 
ment that some great calamity was on the eve of taking place, and in that 
calamity her eternal happiness was involved. 

The use of mirrors in Convents is generally prohibited, and during her 
novitiate Cecile had not seen her own lovely countenance, for it was a rule 
among the Sisters of St. Ursula that they should never behold their own 
persons. A pail of pure pellucid water had that morning been placed in 
her apartment. She took a cup and was about to dip it into the clear ele- 
ment, when her hand was arrested by observing a perfect reflection of her 
pearly white arm. The thought that she might also see her face in the water 
was at that moment a temptation not easily to be resisted. Bending over the 
placid surface she beheld with a mingling of pleasure and grief her own sweet- 
ly beautiful and expressive features. The idea that she possessed any remark- 
able personal charms had never, until this moment, occurred to her! Her 
complexion contained not a tinge of color, but was while and clear as ala- 
baster. Her eyes sparkled from the crystal mirror like sapphires; and their 
Jong dark lashes were distinctly shadowed forth ; her hair hung in profuse 


42 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


tresses over her finely chiselled swan-like neck, and seemed to her more 
glossy and beautiful than ever ! A bitter pang shot coldly through her heart 
at the suiiden thought that ere twelve hours should pass away, those rich 
silken clusters would be severed from her head ! With both hands she 
wildly threw them back from her brow so as to })revent their reflection. She 
was startled at the contrast ! Still beautiful and angelic, yet the natural or- 
nament of the head was wanting to perfect her transcendant loveliness. 

‘ Can it be true,’ soliloquised she in low soft tones, ‘that these graceful 
ringlets are to be shaven from my brow ? Yes ! it is one of the sacred rites. 
Beauty is not tolerated in the Holy Catholic Church — it is incompatible with 
the views of the Ursulines. But why?’ continued she, thoughtfully. ‘Does 
the Holy Bible teach that God’s gifts are not to be endured ? Certainly not, 
but on the contrary it enjoins upon our sex to cultivate the crowning charm 
of woman. Then why should a custom be adopted contrary to the express 
command of Holy Writ ? Alas ! it is not for me in this state of doubt and 
perplexity to inquire. I have given my word that 1 shall be prepared this 
night. Would that it mighf be recalled ! Oh, Heaven support me — guide 
me aright, and let no unholy thoughts take possession of my soul.’ 

‘ Amen !’ responded Padre Francis,’ who at this moment unceremoniously 
entered Cecile’s apartment, interrupting her supplications. 

Cecile recovered soon as possible from her kneeling posture, but not in 
time to prevent the Padre from the suspicion that she had been surveying 
her fair features in the mirror of water.’ 

‘ Hear Sister,’ resumed the officious monk,’ I know that it is hard to turn 
away from carnal fascinations. 1 wonder not that your exceeding beauty 
tempts thee to behold it — it would tempt any saint in the calendar — and I 
frankly confess myself influenced by your marvellons loveliness — even 1 
your spiritual guide and confessor.’* 

‘ 1 comprehend iiotthe import of your words ?’ said she, astonished at the 
remarks of the monk.’ 

‘ Be seated, and I will clearly explifim,’ he replied, as he drew a chair to- 
\yards her and seated himself beside her. ‘Many beautiful maidens have 
become Nuns of our order, but among them all I never saw or heard of one 
that rivals thee in loveliness.’ 

‘ You now speak of things inconsistent with thy calling, and of an earth- 
ly, not of a Celestial nature,’ remarked the Novice. 

‘Nay, beautiful one, when I talk of thee I talk of heavenly beings! Have 
you not consented to become a “Bride of Heaven,” this very night? Thy 
joys henceforth will be celestial not terrestrial! Thy wondrous charms 
which lie more than half concealed beneath those clusters of hair will be- 
come exposed to view — a halo of glory will encircle thy brow — and thy 
countenance will be radiant with love and beauty !’ 

‘You talk more like a lover than a holy father of the church,’ said 
Cecile. 

‘You now comprehend me. Priest as I am, T do love thee’ said beta- 
king her hand. 

‘Impious man, leave me.’ 

‘Deign but let me taste the fragrance of those sweet lips, and you will 
make your adorer happy,’ said the monk, a lecherous leer gleaming from 
ins small, piercing eye. 

Cecile started to her feet, and looking the priest in the face with an ex- 
pression which almost caused the amorous priest to quajl before her, ex- 
claimed, 

‘Begone! or the Convent shall be alarmed.’ . 

‘ Your voice would not be heard in this sequestered part of the building. 
Come, listen to me and treat me fairly. I promise to be thy faithful pro 
tector.’ 


43 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

‘Shame on thee, thou sacrilegious monster,’ exclaimed Cecile. 

‘ Spare your denunciations, sister Cecile,’ said the Priest coolly, as 
he arose to leave her. You now, beauteous maiden, belong to the Ursiiline 
Convent. To-night, your vows will be heard; to-night you will be invested 
with the black veil.’ 

Never!’ criedshe with a voice that pierced through the thicks wall of the 
building. ‘ Gracious Heavens ! to what unholy place have I been enticed? 
Is this a life devoted to God ^ Is this your ancient and boasted religion ? or 
are you a demon sent especially from the infernal regions thus to impose 
upon the credulity of our sex I’ 

‘ Nay, sweet angel, you will love me better, after the rites in the chapel are 
performed,’ said the monk. 

‘ Those rites shall never be performed, u*tiless they be enforced upon me 
by wicked monsters like thyself,’ answered Cecile.’ 

‘ Fear not, my beauteous angel. I’ll leave you to consider upon the choice 
jmu have made. You will not break your promise; of that be assured.’ — 
The brutish priest now left the resolute maiden in a s^^te of wonder and 
amazement. 

‘ I’ll not remain in this Convent another hour,’ said sheas she left her 
apartment and hastened to the Abbess in the refectory. 

‘ What is the matter, my dear child asked the Abbess as Cecile entered 
the room crying. 

‘ J come to take leave of you, and to ask permission to be absolved from 
my promises. I have been grossly insulted by the Priest.’ 

‘Indeed! Padre Francis is always making (rouble. But, my dear, the 
power to grant what you ask lies nor with me. Tarry with us, and you 
shall dine at our table; by that time the Reverend Bishop will be here ; and 
you shall have all the satisfaction you desire.’ 

‘ Thank you, ma mere,’ replied Cecile as she took a seat at the further cor- 
ner of the room, and hid her face in her hands. 

In a few minutes the dinner was prepared. In the meanwhile. Padre 
Francis and Sister Magdalene were holding a private interview in an ad- 
joining room, and the following is the substance of their privacy. 

‘The ceremony of investing hei with the black veil must be' done to- 
night. She refuses and wishes to leave us. It will be a severe loss to the 
establishment. She will dine here to-day, sister Ursula,’ said the Monk 
in an insinuating manner. ‘The opportunity ought not to be lost. You can 
assist me.’ 

‘True, 1 comprehend you,’ answered sister Ursula. ‘ You wish me to ad- 
minister the ’ 

‘Yes! the stupifying draught! here is a small phial. It contains the 
[)recise quantity. Convey it into her drink at the table in the Refectory, where 
she will be allowed to dine to-day. There will be no further difficulty.’ 

‘ I’ll do it,’ said the emaciated and haggard looking Nun. She left the un- 
holy priest to his own reflections, and entered the refectory where the Ab- 
bess, and Assistants, including Cecile, had just seated themselves at the table. 
The table was filled with a supply of luxuries that an epicure would not 
have cavilled at, and, compared with the food sent to the Nuns of the Black 
Veil, would have been considered sumptuous. 

‘ Where is Padre Francis, sister Ursula,’ inquired the Lady Superio.*. 

‘He is at his devotions in an adjoining room. He will be here pres- 
ently.’ 

The door at length opened, and the wily Priest entered with a reverend 
and sanctimonious look, seated himself at the table, and after crossing him- 
self, repeated hurriedly, ‘ In nomine dornini nostri Jesu Christe.’ He then 
dissected a Turkey and a pair of canvass backs with a grace and skill that 
any hotel keeper would have envied. He did the honors of the table in a 


44 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

easy and genteel manner. No one would have marvelled at his sleek, fat» 
visage, had they but witnessed the justice he committed upon the poultry. 
Upon a side-table were cups of delicious Mocha just drawn from a pure 
silver urn, and served by Sister Agnes. The Abbess was first served with 
the coffee, and then a cup, with an ingredient besides sugar and cream clan- 
destinely thrown into it by the amiable sister Agnes, was passed to Cecile. 
As she drank, Padre Francis turned up the lids from his small, twinkling 
eyes, and when the cup was emptied, he instinctively drew a long breath, 
something between a sigh and a groan. 

‘ I fear I have eaten too heartily,’ said the Priest, to account for the audible 
sigh which involuntarily escaped him. 

‘ Be helped to some of these delicious oysters,’ said the Abbess. ‘They 
are scalloped. 

‘ Ah ! indeed, I had forgotten you had provided such a delicacy. Well, I 
can’t refuse an invitation so politely urged. A veiy small quantity, if you 
please ’ 

Enough was served for an ordinary hungry man’s dinner, but Father 
Francis never dedihed to take a ‘small piece’ or a ‘ little more.’ The Oys- 
ters soon disappeared, followed by a nice plate of plumb-pudding, apiece of 
pie, and a ‘ small quantity’ of nuts and raisins. 

‘ A very good dinner!’ said the Holy Padre as he arose from the table and 
wiped his greasy lips with a napkin. He left the refectory and proceeded 
directly to his apartment where he unlocked a closet and took out a case, of 
cut glass bottles well filled with the best of old Jamaica, Holland Gin and 
Scotch and Irish Whiskey. He took a glass or two of the Cognac, and 
lighted his hx)oka and puffed himself into a comfortable siesta, where we 
shall for the present leave him, anfl look after our other characters. 

To return to poor Cecile. She had drank the stupifying drug, and alrea- 
dy its deleterious properties were at work upon her debilitated system. And 
ere half an hour had elapsed, she had so far sunk into a state of unconscious- 
ness that she was not cognizant of anything that was passing around her. 
She w’^as laid upon a couch where she remained until sunset, when she was 
removed to the wardrobe, and.there arrayed in the gayest and most costly 
garments she possessed, preparatory to the ceremony of taking the Veil. — 
During all this time she had not uttered a single word, and was moved to 
and fro more like a piece of mechanism than an intelligent being. 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


45 



4 


CHAPTER IX. 

Night of the Conflagration. The Turkish Barge. Melville and 

Gray visit the Subterranean Arch. The Monk set to cool. A 

NEW Disguise. Chapel of the Ursulines. Entrance of Cecile. — 

Commencement of the Rites of Investing the Black Veil. The 

Vows. Sudden Illumination. Terror of the Nuns. ^ 

The evening of the memorable twenty-fourth of August had arrived. It 
was a bright and beautiful night. The magnificent constellation of our nor- 
thern hemisphere, studded the blue expanse of heaven Avith unsurpassed 
brilliancy. The narrow crescent Avhich for a time dimmed the lustre of the 
twinkling-orbs of night, had sunk behind the wester \ hills. All Avas quiet 
and peaceful. But a gentle breeze from the northwest rippled the waters of 
the Mystic and Charles, and waved the boughs and leaves of the stately 
elms and sycamores which lined the road leading: towarrls Mt. Benedict. 

At the hour of nine o’clock two individuals were seen to issue stealthily 
from the convent garden, by the gate with the secret s[)ring. They direct- 
ed their footsteps towards a neighboring hill some hundred yards distant, 
and on reaching its summit they halted. It would have required more than 
ordinary scrutiny to have recognized in these individuals the persons of 
John Melville and Frederick Gray, so strangely Avere they disguised; but 
they would have been easily detected while conversing, by those familiar 
with the tones of their voices. 

‘Everything seems to be favorable for our bold adventure,’ said Melville, 
as they seated themselves upon the eminence which commanded a view of 
the Mystic River. 

‘Yes,’ replied his companion ; ‘and your friend, McDotigal and O’Toole 
have enough of “ihe ci'aythw'” as they called it, within their hides, to war- 
rant their being perfectly quiet and docile for the remainder of the night. 

‘VVas’nt that a capital expedient.^ Thus far it has worked admirably. I 
have got the Irishman’s key, which I found made fast around his neck. — 
Now that we have secured our ingress and egress to the Convent Chapel, 
ad libitum , — via the “subterranean arch,” — if we can be sure to be in sea- 
son to secure the monk, and for a time, borrow his habiliments, one of us 
might be present at a portion of the ceremony, which Mr. O’Toole said 
would commence precisely at eleven o’clock.’ 

‘That would be rich indeed ; but 1 fear such an adventure would be at- 
tended with too much danger.’ 

‘Pooh ! I should not fear an army of Nuns, backed by a Bishop, and a 
score of Priests,’ answered Melville. 

‘ The gangs from Charlestown and Cambridge I trust avIH not arrive too 
soon to disarrange our f)lans,’sald Gray. 

‘They will light the signal upon this hill precisely at twelve. Meanwhile, 
we can station our men around the Convent grounds, to be ready at a mo- 
ment’s warning. Hark ! I hear the sound of a boat gliding through the wa- 
ter. That’s my barge. None but caiqejhes of the Bosphorus can keep 
perfect time with their oars. I could distinguish ray miiii rowing amnog 


46 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

hundred boat crews. They art nearing the shore. Let us go down and 
meet them.’ 

With hasty steps they descended to the river, where some twenty-five men, 
disguised with l)lack dominos, and w'earing red caps and white jackets, 
were seated in a i)arge with rheir arms resting across their oars. Melvfile 
immediately took from his pocket a small silver tube, wdiich he placed to his 
mouth, and a sluiP wliistle was hear.' by the disguised oarsmen. 

‘ Ay, ay. Captain Pasna ! We await further orders!’ answered a man who, 
sat in the stern of the barge. ‘ Shall we land or proceed ?’ 

‘ Proceed on until you come within range of the large brick edifice I 
pointed out to you. There land and disperse your men among the shrubbe- 
ry atthe<footof the garden, and there lie concealed until you hear again 
my signal.’ 

‘Ay, ay, sir.’ 

The barge and her crew proceeded on, while Melville and Gray retraced 
their steps hastily towards the Convent. They had passed the front gate, 
when the sharp tones of the Ursuline Bell broke upon their ears with a sol- 
emn peal. They pursued their way across the ‘ Communion Garden,’ so 
called, and halted at the entrance of the subterranean ])assage. Melville took 
from his neck a small steel chain, to which was suspended a key of a pecu- 
liar construction — it being in the form of a cross with medallion figtJres on 
each side, representing the crucifixion. With this key he unlocked the door, 
and they found themselves amid huge cakes of ice, piled biie upon another. 
A dim lamp, suspended from the centre, aided by the reflection of its icy 
walls, lighted the frigid apartment. Following thp instructions which the 
Irish porter had unwittingly imparted, they soon found the ‘secret spring,’ 
which, upon touching, a liuge stone revolved slowly from the wall, leaving 
an aperture two by three feet in dimensions. Crawling through this they 
stood in the subterranean passage. It had a rough stone floor, walled en- 
tirely of brick and arched with the same material. It was dimly lighted 
Vv’ith small tapers, placed two rods or more distant from each other. Mel- 
ville taking the lead, they groped their way along until they came to a nar- 
row spiral staircase, when they heard the sound of footsteps slowly descend 
ing. Ensconcing themselves quickly behind an angle of the arch beyond 
the stairs, a figure closely muffldd in cowl and cassock, moved slowly down 
the steps^mumbling aves peder-nosters by the way. When he reached the 
last step, he halted for a moment, and looking cautiously about him^ discov- 
ered to the view of the intruders who had hidden behind the stairs, the fat, 
sleek-looking countenance and aldermanic figure of Padre Francis, of whom 
Melville had liad a very tolerable description from the communicative ‘ Mis- 
thur O’Toole’ at their second interview. He proceeded slowly along the 
passage — Melville and Gray skulking noiselessly in his rear — and as he ar- 
rived at its terminus and beheld the ponderous stone swung back, he started 
back with affright and amazement. At this moment he was suddenly sei- 
zed — as he supposed by el demonio — and ere he could mutter half of an ave 
his mouth was muzzled, and liis arms and nether limbs rendered useless by 
strong cords, fn this condition he was conveyed by dint of great effort on 
the part of his tormentors through the hole into the ice-house, wdiere he 
was divested of his sarcerdotal vestments, and ‘ set to cool’ off the perspi- 
ration which suddenly started from his body on being seized and treated 
so sacrilegiously by hands heated in Gehenna. 

‘Now, Fred,’ whispered Melville, as they re-entered the passage, ‘ as we 
have got the affrighted gentlem '.n’s robes, one of us may as well make a 
good use of them.’ 

‘They will become you, Melville, much better than they will me,’ an- 
swered Gray. ‘ Besides, you are somewhat nearer the height of the monk.’ 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


47 


A 

‘Blit I lack materially in breadth.’ 

‘ And I still more.’ 

‘ Very well, Fred. If you will have it so assist me in putting them on. — 
I dare say I shall look like a half-starved six-footer, or the ‘ Living Skeleton’ 
in an Alderman’s gown. What a heavy, clumsy affair this cassock is. — 
There my friend,’ continued Melville, after he was fully arrayed in the Pa- 
dre’s outward apparel. ‘ How do J Uiok? Do 1 resemble even the shadow 
of the man cooling off in the ice-house?’ 

‘Oh ! it fits you marvellously well. , You’ll do admirably; but you must 
keep your face closely concealed beneath the hood, ior it would need a 
shade or two more of Vermillion to approach near the complexion of the 
features of the monk,’ 

‘ It must be near the time. Le^ us see,’ said Mellville as he took out liis 
watch and held it by one of the dim tapers. ‘Two minutes of eleven. We 
have no time to loose.’ 

‘True. How shall we manage.’ 

‘You secrete yourself again beyond the stairs, and when you hear my 
signal, run to the entrance of this passage, and repeat it. My men will come 
to you. Conduct them directly through this arch into the chapel above.’ 

The bell of the convent again tolled, and the tread of many footsteps, as 
if persons assembling above, was distinctly heard. Melville mounted the 
spiral stairsand imitating the slow and cautious tread of the monk, he as- 
cended to the top. No door was visible but the same peculiar spring which 
he found below was quickly discovered. This he touched, and slowly a 
pannel opened, which, when closed he found to be a beautiful painfing 
which swung ifom the frame, and had no more the ajtpearance of an 
entrance than any of the framed pictures which hung around the walls of 
the apartment. He was now within the chapel of the Ursu lines, and he be- 
held the assembled throng of Nuns habited in the costume peculiar to their 
order. As he entered, the choir accompanied by the organ was chanting 
forth the “ CanMe Domino” while all knelf down, which circumstance en- 
abled him to conceal himself unperceived, behind the heavy drapery of a 
windovv near the secret opening. 

The chape! was constructed after the rules of no distinct order of archi- 
tecture, but seemed a commingling of several of the most modern styles. 
However, its high arched ceilings and dome of glass, its pannnelled walls 
and windows of stained glass, gave it a beautiful and imposing appearance. 
Around the walls were hung rich paintirigs by the old masters, representing 
the saints, and historical pieces of a variety of religions subjects. In ttie 
centre of tue chapel, stood a lofty f»edestal hearing a beautiful representation 
of the patron saint of the Ursniines, set in a heavy black frame of carved 
wood. The whole was surrounded by a wooden cross with a representation 
of the crucifixion sculptured upon it. , From the centre of the dome was 
suspended, a heavy silken banner ornamented with golden cord, and tassels 
and fringe of bullion, and ujmn its /'olds on one side was embroidered a rep- 
resentation of our saviour, and upon the other side the cross, with the letters 
I. H. S. above it, all of which was o/'the most arfistical and elahoiate work- 
rnanshif). 

The Nuns were nearly all assembled. The Choir continued chanting, as 
the Abiiess, followed by a train of attendants, entered by the principal door, 
and with an air of dignity and stateliness, marched up to4he altar, crossed 
herself, and knelt tiefore it. At the same time her attendants and the whole 
congregation (with the exception of onr friend of the cowl and cassock,) 
prostrated themselves, and kissed the floor. This act o/ devotion being 
performed, all was silent /bra few moments, when the Abbess resumed her 
march, and halted before the Picture of the Patroness Saint, where the 


1 


48 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

‘ Rosary’ was performed, consisting of ten ‘ Ave Marias’ and one ‘ Pater Nos- 
ter’ — thereby honoring the Virgin Mary with ten times more reverence than 
was allowed to tho Supreme Being, — concluding with tlie following ^ Hail 
Mary,’ of which we give an English version : 

‘Hail, holy Queen, mother of mercy, our life our sweetness, and our hope, 
to Thee do we supplicate, poor daughters of Eve ; to Thee do we send 
up our sighs, whilst weeping and lamenting in this valley of tears. Turn 
then, O most gracious advocate. Thine eyes of mercy towards us; show us 
Jesus, the blessed fruit of Thy womb, O clement, O pious, O sweet Virgin 
Mary.’ 

\ 

During the performance of the ‘Rosary’ and other prei)aratory rites, the 
Novice, whom, it will be recollected, we left in the Wardrobe with several 
of the sisterhood, was tastefully arrayed in a beautiful white satin dress, 
with jewels in her ears, and rings upon her fingers. Her brow was encir- 
cled with a diadem of pearls, while her rich, raven tresses strayed in luxu- 
rious profusion over her alabaster neck, and shoulders. Indeed, she looked 
es if dressed, rather for the bride of some gay gallant of the world, than for 
a ‘Bride of the Church ’ She had partially recovered from the powerful 
soporific draught which had been administered to her, yet she was still un- 
consciotisof what was passing around her. With due credit to the sisters 
we would say that on this occasion she was treated with kindness and affec- 
tion, and every means within their power was devised to restore to her mind 
the light of reason. But all without effect. Not a single word fell from 
her lips, nor a sigh escaped from her heart — not a tear dimmed her eye, nor 
a single emotion \vas apparent in her placid countenance. She seemed more 
like a marble statue, suddenly transmuted into a living creaature, than like a 
being born with the breath of life, and nurtured upon the earth ! Being in- 
capable of walking, her arms were placed around the necks of two of the 
sisters, who, in this manner were enabled to convey her to the chapel. The 
Choir was brilliantly illuminated, which shew off the magnificent apparel of 
Cecile to great advantage, and contrasted strangely with the sombre habili- 
ments of the Nuns. She was led directly to the Choir, where, with some 
difficulty, her attendants succeeded in getting her into a kneeling posture; 
soon as tins was accomplished, she looked upward, and it seemed as if, sud- 
denly, a ray of light had burst upon her, and with clasped hands she fixed 
her gaze upon the altar as though an inward prayer was being offered from 
her heart to the Throne of Heaven ! There was something melancholy, yet 
lovely and interesting in her appearance at the moment. Her large, expres- 
sive eyes, shaded by long, dark lashes; her complexion, untingecl by a sin- 
gle rose-like hue; and her sweet lips, whiter than her cheeks, gave to her 
countenance a peculiarly beautiful, but indescribable expression. Her fig- 
ure, slender and fragile as the reed, indicated clearly the effect of the rigo- 
orous penances which she had been taught to practice during the last few 
weeks of her Novitiate ! — She now turned those lustrous orbs, and gazed 
upon the scene prepared for her, and they contrasted wildly with the dim 
vision of the shadowy and spectre-like forms that were moving around her, 
chanting, in sepulchral tones, exclamations of Praise! 

^ ‘ Ave Marias’ and ‘ Paler Nosters’ were now repeated, and a solemn, dirge- 
Iike hymn was sung by the whole assemblage. Suddenly, the room was 
darkened — the altar, which a moment before, blazed with lights, was invisi- 
ble. Meanwhile, Vespers and Chants were continued. At length the light 
of a dim taper broke through the utter darkness — and in a moment after- 
ward, some half dozen more were lighted, which reflected a wavering and 
uncertain light upon the sallow faces of the Nuns. 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 49 

Cecile was still kneeling at the altar — but how changed— the beautiful and 
gay attire was gone, and instead, a dark, gloomy robe enshrouded her an- 
gelic form. The ornaments in her ears, — the rings upon her taper fingers, 
—the diadem of pearls which encircled her brow — all, all had disappeared 
during the moments of darkness. 

Who can describe the feelings of Melville — alias Padre Francis — upon 
witnessing this peculiar and imposing ceremony ; The prayers were solemn 
and impressive ; the chanting of the choristers, accompanied by the deep- 
toned organ, reverberated along the high-arched walls and fell mournfully- 
pleasing, upon his ear. But the desecrating of these services, as viewed by 
him, by performing monkish and unmeaning rites upon this poor girl whom 
he supposed to be his sister, aroused him to a sense of the business which 
brought him in a clandestine manner to this place. 

The solemn ceremony was performed with the exception of repeating 
the ‘Vows,’ after the Abbess, which read as follows : 

‘O, Holy mother, permit a worm of the dust to consecrate myself forever 
to thee, in presence of all the Saints and Martyrs and Nuns assembled ; and 
to renounce the temptations and wickedness of the world forever ; by ta- 
king upon myself the most holy vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, 
which, with thy grace and assistance I will fulfil.’ 

This the Abbess read, and enquired of Cecile if she were ready to take 
them.^ But her enquiry was unheeded. Not a word escaped the poor girl’s 
lips. Taking it for granted that silence in this case, as well as in others, was 
paramount to an assent, she motioned to one of the sisters to repeat them 
for her ; and as it was customary to shear a lock from the head at the close 
of each simple sentence, Cecile’s hair was prepared for the sacrifice. 1 

The fatal scissors were in the hands of the Abbess — a cluster of beautiful 
curls was read! when suddenly; as if by enchantment, a broad glare of 
light gleamed through the windows, and fell upon the dark figures there 
assembled ! The Convent Bell pealed forth its sonorous sounds in rapid 
succession I The Abbess dropped her scissors, and began repeating her 
‘ Aves.’ The Nuns, struck with amazement and fear, performed several feats 
altogther foreign to their vocation I All was confusion, tumult and dread ! 
###***** 


I 


50 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


CHAPTER X. 


Cecile Rescued. The Incendiaries. Melville encounters Slip- 
pery Joe. The latter loses his Booty. The Conflagration. 

A Female in Peril. The Daring Rescue. Surprising Coinci- 
dence. 

The Nons, wild with affright, had now disappeared from the Cliapel, leav- 
ing Cecile, apparently undisturbed, kneeling before the altar. Melville in- 
stantly opened tlie mysterious pannel and gave a shrill whistle. He then 
approcudied the half-unconscious maiden. 

‘Cecile,’ said he, mildly, ‘ 1 come to take you from this wretched place and 
restore you to your dear mother.’ 

The timid maiden turned her eyes upward and gave the stranger, a look 
of confidence. ‘ Who will take me to my dear mother ?’ asked she. 

‘ A friend, be assured. Fear not. This edifice will soon be a smoulder- 
ing heap of ruins. Come.’ 

Saying this, Melville took the slender g‘irl in his arms and bore her across 
the chapel, when he met Gray, who had just entered, followed by a dozen 
men. To his friend’s arms he quickly assigned her. 

‘ Here, Frederick, take the poor girl to the carriage, and let two of rny 
men accompany you as an escort. There await my coming. I am for the 
present needed here. Be expeditious, I will rejoin you shortly.’ 

The cause of the sudden affright of the Nuns was the blazing bonfire 
upon the neighboring hill, which was the signal for the victors to assemble 
before the Convent. The bell, to add to the consternation of the Nuns, was 
rung by Melville, who accidentally came in contact with the rope, near the 
place where he had stood concealed. A motley crew of men, disguised in a 
variety of fantastic and demoniac shapes, now apjiroached the Convent door, 
many of whom bore flaming torches in their hands which rendered their 
appearance still more hideous and infernal. The leader of the frightful 
crew now approached with a bold air the principal door of the edifice, and 
^with a club gave several distinct blows. The Nuns had now assembled in 
the parlor, and the Abbess hoisted one of the windows, and with a trem- 
bling voice, demanded ; 

‘ Why this untimely intrusion ?’ 

‘ Madam ! I have no time to parley. I give you and all who dwell with- 
in these walls five minutes safely to depart.’ 

The several doors were thrown open and the terrified inmates hurried 
forth in the wildest confusion. Some were screaming aloud — some were 
repeating ‘ Aves’ and ‘ Pater Nosters’— others were incolierentiv crying help ! 
murder I fire ! &c. 

A gang of pillagers now rushed into the Convent, and commenced ran- 
sacking the apartments; while Melville had summoned all his men, via the 
subterranean passage, and dispersed them throughout the building, to pre- 
vent the commission of any sacrilege— himself and two others remaining in 


) • 


51 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

the chapel. Soon he perceived two individuals, whom he recognized ns the 
coveys he had encountered on the bridge, enter stealthily by the principal 
door. He quickly withdrew, with his men, behind the altar, to watcli their 
movements. 

‘Veil, I’m blowMj’said one of the thieves, ‘if thishisn‘t a church. 1 should 
know hit vos a church ’ad 1 seen it in London, haliho’ I never seed the bin- 
side o’ one before in my life. Now, iv we could honly find some silver wases 
vot they christens the babies Inn, hor some jewels vot belongs to the saints, 
vy ve might make hour heternal fortin.’ 

‘ Let’s first break open that small door with the image a lop of it,’ said the 
companion of the cockney. 

This was no sooner said than done. 

‘ Oh my hiesl’ exclaimed Slippery Joe. ‘Vot a mine o’ vealth ! Sec 
the waluables! Let’s valk hinto ’em vithout any mercy vhatsomever. Vy 
ve shall be has veahhy as Hali Baby, who vent into the cave ov the ’ighvay- 
men, or.Sinbad the Sador, who vent hinter the VValley o’ Diamonds! Oh, 

, my liies, vot a beautiful lamp! Vot a nice pair o’ gold tumblers to drink 
vhiskey toddy out ov ! Oh crackey ! ^ere’s a bright gold sun to melt hup 
hinter old gold for the market. Vot’s that I vender ? Ho, that must be a 
hidol from Hegypt vot the Nuns vorships. Veil, 1 feels rich as I vant to be ! 
Now let’s evvacuvvate the premises ’fore the vicked ’uns sets fire to ’em !’ 

‘Yes, we must be off in a twinkling.’ 

‘ Oh, voi’s this ? ’Ere’s hanother key-’ole.’ 

‘Smash ’em in — don’t let’s wait for trifles.’ 

‘Veil 1 vont — there she goes, smash !’ 

‘ Well what do you discover? Is there any thing very valuable.’ 

‘ Oh ! my hies ! vy, it’s a baby !’ 

‘A what ?’ 

‘ A wery beautiful large vax baby — vot the Nuns ’ad to play vith I ’spose. 
I must ’ave it to carry ’ome vith me. Vot a nice dressed little thing ’tis to be 
wsure. Oh, von’t my little daughter Vilhemina be hawful pleased vith such 
u waluable and beautiful present from her dear papa.’ 

‘ Come let’s be going — we have got enough.’ 

‘ Veil, I’m off like a mason from a ’ot gridiron.’ 

‘Hold, villains !' exclaimed Melville, rushing between them and the door, 
his men following. 

‘ Vy, you don’t say so ?’ 

‘Leave not this spot until I bid you !’ 

‘ I vont to know — you can’t be a hearnesi? Vy, hisn’t you one o’ the Con- 
went Burners ?’ enquired the cockney, somewhat alarmed at the formidable 
force which was presented to intercept him ! 

‘ Sacrilegious robbers deliver up your plunder— quickly ! Remember — 
you are in my power !’ said Melville, sternly. 

‘ Veil now, if you his really in heartiest, vy I spose ve must give up hall 
hour waluable vealth ?’ 

‘Instantly !’ 

‘Veil, then, there they his. Pr’aps they’re honly vashed hafter hall,’ said 
Slippery Joe to his companion by way of consolation. ‘ I spose ve can take 
our leave now ?’ 

‘Yes — begone.’ 

A loud shout from without, and a sudden illumination of the chapel, indi- 
cated that the incendiaries had now commenced their work of destruction, 
which prevented the cockney and his companion from following up their 
profession’ in the other apartments, and they departed with empty pockets. 
‘Melville ordered his men to gather the most valuabe articles, that could be 
4 


52 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

removed with safety, and convey them to the subterranean passage. This 
order was promptly obeyed, and ere the fire had got well underweigh, more 
than half of the wealth in the Convent was removed to the place des- 
ignated, and was thus saved from the conflagration, and the hands of the 
pillagers, throilgh the extreme vigilance of Melville and his men. 

Tlie flames had now reached the chapel, and Melville ordering his men to 
retire to llie barge, rushed among the motley gathering in front, who were 
exulting, in every {)ossible manner, over the burning pile. 

At this inoment a shrill scream was heard above the din of unearthly 
shouts — again and again it was heard ! Melville looked up and beheld a fe- 
male standing.in the cupola, which the fire had not yet reached. A wild cry 
of horror escaped him ! lie made Ids way through the throng — ascended 
the long flight of steps with a bound, and entered the burning edifice! — 
The fire was now beginning to wind its serpentine folds around the cupola, 
where yet stood the helpless girl uttering piercing shrieks, and lamentable 
cries, which contrasted mournfully with the exulting shouts that rent the air 
a moment before ! The voices of the incendiaries were hushed in silence 
— a thrill of horror darted through every heart and suspended their fearful 
orgies as they gazed — a conscience-stricken crew — upon the dreadful sacri- 
fice which they had no power to avert ! 

Melville had reached the perilous pinnacle! The female fainted in his 
arms, and he bore her through the smoke and fire which encumbered his 
terrible path ! The floors crackled beneath his feet — yet he bore her intrep- 
idly on. Flames of hot smoke at times almost suflbcated him — fire-brands 
fell around him and threatened destruction. With joy he reached the chap- 
el — but great was his dismay whew he saw a portion of the floor fall with a 
crash but a few feet before him ! To retreat was almost instant death — to 
press forward seemed impossible — but this was the only alternative ! He 
receded a few paces, and wi’h a step and a bound he cleared the flaming 
breach, and thus, almost miraculously reached the entrance of the subterra- 
nean cavern in safety ! 

Manwhile the crowd without were gazing upon each other appalled and 
terror-stricken ! They had witnessed Melville as he caught the fainting girl in 
his arms ! but at the next moment a sheet of flame hid them from their view! 
All supposed them lost! Indeed there ap})eared no hope! When, sudden- 
ly from the rear of the building he came forward bearing his lovely burden 
joyfully along ! 

‘They’re saved! They’re saved !’ was the simultaneous shout of the 
whole multitude. 

The awful spell which bounty them in silence was now broken, and cries 
of exultation and merriment again rent the air! They deemed Melville’s 
efforts in saving the poor girl almost a miracle ; and it has ever been a mys- 
tery, with the great mass, how he escaped out of the rear of the building, 
which was at the lime a complete mass of flame ! 

Startle not reader at what we are about to divulge, for we shall endeavor 
yet to explain all to your peifect satisfaction. Melville conveyed his belov- 
ed loife—i'oi' she was indeed the lost Zillah— into the carriage where Freder- 
ick Gray and the beauteous Cecile, were awaiting his coming. Still carry- 
ing his partially revived wife in his arms, he ordered the coachman to drive 
with all possible speed to his mother’s cottage, where we shall in due time 
again meet them. 

Thousand and tens of thousands of spectators had now assembled around 
Mount Benedict, to behold the work of destruction ! It was an imposing 
and thrilling spectacle to behold the vast edifice encompassed in flame ! but 
it was hideous and frightful to look upon the fantastically disguised and de- 


53 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

mon-like crew of incendiaries dancing and yelling around it ! Fire-engines 
and their companies came to the mount, but the infuriated mob drove them 
off! The conflagration illumined the country for many miles around, and 
even at a distance presented a scene of grandeur and sublimity ! The first 
streaks of morn were visible ere the flames had died away and the multitude 
dispersed from the scene of desolation ! Old Sol arose in unclouded splen- 
dor, and its earliest beams glimmered brightly upon a heap of smouldering 
ruins 1 


54 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


CHAPTER X. 


Meditations of a Mother. A Sudden Surprise. Arrival of the 

Carriage. More Wonders. The lovely Grecian. Joy and Hap- 
piness. 

Mrs. Melville was seated at the window of the cottage, meditating upon 
the singular events of her son’s long absence. The joy she fell on finding 
him still among the living of the earth, was only marred hy the knowledge 
of his having abjured the religion of Ids fathers, and embraced Islamism ; — 
a system of religion founded by that Prince of impostors, Mahomet, and 
propagated throughout a portion of the globe by the scimetar of Arabia; 
the yataghan of Turkey, and the well-tempered blade of Damascus; a sys- 
tem of theology on which the Jew and Christian alike are laugiit to view 
with the utmost abhorrence. Yet, from the conversation she had had with 
her son, she was rejoiced to know' that the same God which the Christian 
worships was also the ‘ Allah’ of the devotional Moslem ; and, notw ithstand- 
ing they regarded Mahomet, as the Prophet of God, yet they denied not that , 
Christ w'as also the Piophet of the Christian, deriving his power from 
the same Great Source; that the Turk, whom he had ever been taught to 
look upon as something less than a semi-barbarian, is indeed, a being of hon- 
esty, of morality, of piety, and who is as little likely to violate his conscience 
as the Christian ; a man, too, of benevolence and kindness, and whose hos- 
pitality is proverbial with those who have observed and scrutinized his char- 
acter. Thus did the fond mother reason within herself; thus did she strive 
to repress and conciliate those unhappy emotions which embittered her mind 
upon learning the startling intelligence that one of her own offspring — an 
only son — was not only an official subject of a great Oriental Monarchy, but 
n conscientious Musselmaun ! 

Her thoughts now turned loCecile, and a deep sigh of anguish arose from 
her heart. The singular fatality which attended her children was a matter 
of wonder, as well as of the deepest regret ! oft she had deprecated the hour 
when she gave assent to the importunities of professed spiritual guides, 
and Cecile’s owui wishes, that her belove'^ daughter shoidd be torn from her 
while living! She reproached herself for doing wrong, and she wmdd have 
given worlds could she have recalled the fatal promise I But the die was 
cast! Cecile’s stern decision* to pass beyond her novitiate, had been borne 
to her, and on that night made sacred to the Catholics by the massacre of 
thousands of their religious opponents, she was to take the vows which 
would place her apart from the living, and yet not with the dead ! There 
was something in the tliought that caused her soul to shudder! She wrung 
her bands in anguish, and falling upon her knees offered up a fervent and 
heartfelt prayer to the Almighty, — askingCSfor the Divine interposition to save 
her from being bereaved of a beloved child ! and again to restore her to lier 
bosom ! 

The ‘ Amen’ had scarcely been uttered when the apartment became sud- 


55 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

denly illuminated ; the air rung with shouts and strange noises; the bells, 
for miles around, pealed loudly and rapidly! heavy wheels rumbled as they 
moved along the ground ; and the quick heavy tread of thousands vi- 
bratetl upon her ear! There was a confusion and a murmur without of 
strange import! She ran to the door and, behold ! a blaze of light from be- 
yond an intervening hill, burst upon her vision ! She despatched a servant 
to learn the cause. He soon returned, almost breathless with agitation and 
excitement, ejaculating, 

‘The Convent’s burning! The Convent’s burning!’ 

‘OhCecile! Cecile !’ exclaimed the agonized mother, and fainted upon 
the threshold of the door. 

Presently the trampling of steeds was heard, and in a moment more a 
carriage, drawn by a pair of fleet horses, came rolling furiously up the avenue, 
and stopped before the cottage door. Two gentlemen sprang from the ve- 
hicle in an instant, and assisted two females to alight, with whom they en- 
tered the cottage. Mrs, Melville, by the prompt exertions of her servant, 
had nearly revived. Lights were brought, and in a moment Cecile was in 
her mother’s arms. 

‘Heaven be praised ! You have escaped the dreadful calamity,’ were the 
first words ot Mrs. Melville.’ 

‘ Oh ! my dear mother, I have been rescued from a worse death than be- 
ing consumed with the Convent !’ exclaimed Cecile. 

‘ What mean you, my child ?’ 

‘ I have escaped the dreadful snare, in which both body and soul were 
placed in fearful jeojfardy ! I have been shamefully insulted by one who 
styles himself a servant of God — a vicegerent of the kingdom of Heaven ! 
I have j)assed through trials and privations! and in the last hours of my no- 
vitiate, a stupifying drug was clandestinely administered to me, which de- 
prived me of the light of reason! Oh! mother, thank this stranger, for 
he it was who rescued me from the accursed walls, which, thank Heav- 
en, have been visited this flight with a signal vengeance ! And Frederick, 
ohi Frederick'! dear Frederick! forgive me for my past folly! I have been 
deceived ! blinded by the spells of superstitious men and women !’ 

‘ Forgive thee, Cecile ? Indeed I do,’ answered Gra}' ; ‘ although I have 
been deeply afflicted on thy account, yet I would suffer years of torment 
and w'retchedriess for this hapi)y hour. May God forgive me my sins ! 
and teach me still to love thee as I have for years past.’ Gray extended his 
arms, and Cecile rushed into them, overwhelmed with joy, her long, con- 
fused ringlets straying wildly over his breast. 

‘Oh! Frederick,’ said she, ‘lam now happy! I have been miserable ! 
I am thine forever ! Speak to the stranger, who stands looking upon the 
Grecian ; thank him, I have not words to express my gratitude.’ 

‘ Friend Jack,’^said Gray, ‘ participate with me in my joy !’ 

‘ How’s this, Gray,’ you seem to take more interest in this young lady than 
I was advised of!’ 

‘ True, Jack. Her mother’s consent I had before she contemplated enter- 
ino- the Convent ; her own I now have ; and I only await yours.’ 

^-Melville instantly threw off his sailor disguise, and- stood before them in 
the same costume in which he had once before appeared in the presence of 
his mother. 

‘My husband! my husband!’ screamed Zillah, her dark eyes flashing with 
sudden joy, as she rushed into his arms. 

‘ Yes, dearest Zillah ! I am thy husband. Thank heaven, 1 have found 
thee at ’last! Ry what strange event came you in a nunnery ?’ 

‘I cannot tell thee now, my husband. Hereafter, you shall know all.’ 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


^ My dear mother, I present to you another daughter ! My dear wife 
my beloved Zillah !’ 

Mrs. Melville embrace4 Zillah warmly. 

In the meanwhile, Cecile was gazing with astonishment at the metamor* 
phose and singular behaviour of the stranger. 

‘ Sister Cecile, come to your brother’s arms.’ 

The maiden hesitated. 

‘I am thy brother! John Melville!’ 

‘Am I not dreaming? Are these things actual? Yes! I see! You are my 
brother who was lost and is found,’ ^d she threw herself into his arms ! 

‘ Oh joy ! unexpected joy that this night hath brought forth!’ 

‘ Cecile ! embrace your sister ! your brother’s wife !’ 

The two lovely creatures entwined their arms around each other’s neck, 
and kissed each other with all the fervor of a first affection. It was a beau- 
tiful group to contemplate ! From extreme anguish, all had been made 
happy ; all had attained their greatest earthly desires. Singular, too, were 
the occuiTences which led to such a combination of surprises. 

It was at a late hour when this happy family retired to rest. Before re- 
tiring, however, Zillah promised, on the following morning to relate, since' 
her capture by the Algerine pirates, her wonderful adventures. 


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THE NUN OF ST, URSULA, 


57 


CHAPTER XL 


Zillah’s Narrative, 


“ After the vessel was captured, I was borne in the arms of an athletic 
Arab from the cabin of my husband’s ship to a six oared galley, in which I 
was conveyed to Algiers, although the distance to that port was many 
leagues. Knowing that the ship was taken without a blow being struck, I 
supposed, of course, that my husband was safe, although, like myself^ a pris- 
oner of war! I was taken immediately to the Dey’s palace, who, question- 
ing me regarding the other prisoners, ascertained that I was a native of 
Greece; and, although I endeavored to explain my connection with the 
Turks, he would not listen to me ; and, instead of being treated as a pris- 
oner of war, he sent me directly to the slave market to be sold to the high- 
est bidder. 1 was purchased by a wealthy Algerine for a thousand piastres ; 
but before I was removed, a Spanish gentleman, passing through the slave 
market enquired of the slave merchant regarding me. He seemed to take 
a deep interest in my fate, and looked upon me with an eye of pity and ten- 
derness. On ascertaining that J had been sold to an Algerine, he waited 
until my owner came, and having accosted him, made proposals for pur- 
chasing me, but his price was so exorbitant, (charging five thousand pias- 
tres) that the Spaniard gave up in despair. I begged to be delivered into 
his hands, but the Algerine gave a deaf ear to my entreaties, he determin- 
ing to make me add at least four thousand piastres to his heap of gold. At 
length the Spaniard left me, and in the course of an hour returned. He 
spake to me in low tones, and, understanding that I was to be removed to 
my master’s house that evening, he resolved to make an attempt with his 
crew to rescue me — a stratagem which I freely assented to, and determined 
to assist in executing. The hour arrived. It was dark. And my avari- 
cious master came to take me to his harem, bringing with him a couple of 
Negroes as a safeguard lor my person. We had proceeded but. a few rods 
when I saw a dozen men standing near a coffee-house, whom I knew 
to be the Spaniards. I immediately told my master that I had left in the 
market a bocJcsha, or bundle, of rich apparel, and which also contained my 
jewels.- This was sufficient bait for his avarice, and preferring rather to 
trust me with the slaves than my supposed jewels, he himself hobbled back 
to the market for the Measure. 

* In the meanwhile, my negro guard, not suspecting the intrigue, were 
carelessly looking around upon whatever attracted their attention. The 
moment I saw their eyes removed from me, I ran towards the Spaniards 


58 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 

witli all the fleetness my limbs possessed, — the negroes in full chase ; but 
f had got several rods in advance of them. The Captain and one of his 
olflcers hurried me through the coffee-house, while his men cut off the pur- 
suit at the door. 

We quickly arrived at the pier, and hurrying into the boat, we were soon 
gliding toward the ship. Another boat, containing the crew soon followed, 
and as all were now on board, the Captain ordered the anchor to be weigh- 
ed, and the sails unfurled, and we were soon leaving the port of Algiers un- 
der a heavy press of canvas. 

When morning dawned, it was nearly calm, and we moved slowly over 
the billows. A vessel astern hove in sight! The Captain, on looking 
through his glass, discovered |t to be an Algerine Cutter, in full chase ; and 
to give speed to the vessel they had two boats out, well manned, and in two 
hours would have overhauled us, had not the wind suddenly sprung up and 
blew so fresh that the Cutter took in her boats, and hoisted all her canvas. 
But the ship was now gaining upon the chase, and before nightfall she was 
lost to us. Captain Carrero resolved to put into Lisbon, notwithstanding 
the officers of the Cutter probably knew' whither he was bound. This he 
accomplished, and without tarrying, sailed for Havre, at which port w'e soon 
arrived. Afterward, we visited Liverpool and then set sail for America. 

We had been at sea but ten days when a violent gale of wind sprung up, 
andaltliough the sails were closely reefed at the time, yet its fury carried 
away all her canvas and spars. 

It was now night, and the tornado w'as increasing in violence. We w'ere 
driving before the wind with fearful velocity, when a mountain billow roll- 
ed over'the stern of the ship, sweeping the decks of masts, spars and every 
moveable thing in its course. The Captain had, a moment before, gone 
upon deck, and shared the dreadful fate of more than half the crew. 

Morning at length .dawned — the gale had subsided, and the ocean was 
placid as a sea of glass, and w e had hopes of being soon fallen in with and 
taken from the raastless vessel — but our hopes vanished, when the dreadful 
word was pas-ed along that a fearful breach was discovered, and that we 
were slowly sinking! The pumps were manned and every exertion was 
made to keep the hull afloat. But all in vain — it was beyond human effort. 
The water gained rapidly in the hold, and we gave ourselves up as lost — 
there W'as not a boat, nor plank, nor spar — all had been swept from the 
decks by the waves that swept over us. I sank upon my knees and cried 
‘ Allah ! Father ! save us t’ My prayer was heard — the joyous shout, ‘ a sail ! 
a sail!’ burst from the crew; but slie w'as bearing away from us. Signals 
were now made, and the men with almost superhuman strength raised a 
heavy gun from the lower deck and discharged it. The report was heard — 
and great W'as our joy when in a few' moments we beheld the distant vessel 
change her course and bear down directly for rs, aided by a gentle breeze 
which had now sprung up. She low'ercd her boats — they came along- 
side, and w'e were all taken frotn the sinking shij) and thus w ere saved from 
an ocean grave. The vessel proved to be an American mercliantman, home- 
ward bound ; and in eight days after we had been taken from the wreck 
the ship arrived safely in Boston harbor. In accordance with the captain’s 
wishes, I narrated to liim my short but eventful history. He sympathised 
deeply with my afflictions, and when I told him that my ImsbaiKl was a na- 
tive of America, he seemed greatly surprised, and hade me he comforted, 
for he w'ould use every means in his pow'cr to restore me to him. He first 
proposed to take me to his residence in the country some thirty miles dis- 
tant ; but afterwards told me that as he had'a daughter at the Mount Bene- 
dict Seminary in Charlestown, he w'ould take me there and place me under 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 59 

the protection of the principal of the Institution. Accordingly, on the day 
after our arrival, he took me in a carriage to the Seminary — j)resente*d me 
to the Abbess, who readily promised to do all in her power for my com- 
fort, seemed greatly pleased, and thanked the gentleman for placing pie 
under her care. After introducing me to his daughter and recommending 
me to her confidence, he took his departure. 

When evening came I was invited to the chapel, where religious services 
were to be performed. All of the worshippers, on entering, knelt down 
and crossed themsfelves, but instead of making a sign that I was unaccus- 
tomed to, [ fell upon my knees, and performed the Moslem sign of rever 
/ eiice ! All eyes were tprned ujion ipe with astonishment, and 1 observed 
the Priest and Abbess looked angrily ! I immediately retired to the further 
part of the chapel, near the door, where I remained a silent and inactive 
spectator of their singular ceremonies. I noticed that all present were hab- 
ited in long plain black gowns, unbecoming hoods, and veils, either black or 
white, hanging over their shoulders ; and 1 wondered that I did not perceive 
among them any of the young and more becomingly attired ladies, that I 
had met on our arrival in the morning. 

Soon as the services were concluded, the Abbess approached me with a 
reproving look, and accused me ot committing an inexcusable offence in 
the presence of the holy saints ! 

I answered that 1 intended no wrong, and begged she would pardon me 
if I had displeased her. This did not satisfy her, and she commenced cat- 
echising me ; — 

‘ \Tju are a native of Greece.^’ she enquired. 

I answered in the affirmative. 

‘Your countrywomen are neither'infidels nor heathens?’ 

‘I believe that the creed of the Greek Church is not essentially dissimilar 
to that of the Catholic Church,’ I answered. 

‘ Then 1 suppose you are member of the Greek Church ?’ 

‘ No.’ 

‘No?’ echoed the Abbess with surprise and indignation. ‘You must 
then be a horrid Jewess or an infidel?’ 

‘ Neither!’ 

‘ What then do you profess?’ demanded she, impatiently. 

‘ La illah, ilia Mohammed Resoul Allah !’ said 1. 

She started back as if in doubt. What is the English of that?’ she en- 
quired. 

‘ There is but one God, and Mahomet is the Prophet of God !’ 

She was thunderstruck ! Anger, amazement and horror were depicted 
upon her countenance I The other women screamed and ran from me as 
if I had been a fiendess, sent expressly from the infernal regions to torture 
them. 

‘May the saints defend us from this female monster!’ dipping her hands 
in a font of water, crossing herself, and throwing some of it insultingly into 
my face !’ A Mahomrnedan uttering heresy in the chapel of the Blessed 
Virgin. Come not near me — stir not — })rofane not a single thing by your 
touch! You sjiall be taken care of!’ said she, and left the chapel in a 
paroxysm of rage. 

1 was now left completely alone to contemplate upon the singular treat- 
ment I had received from the Abbess. I could hardly persuade myself to 
believe that it was on account of my religion — yet 1 could divine no other 
cause. In the course of an hour a rough Irishman, who styled himself the 
porter, appeared in the chapel. He told me to follow him. J obeyed, and 
my conductor led me up several flights of stairs into a narrow dark apart- 


60 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


inent, situated in the upper part of the building. Here I was ordered to re- 
main, and on no account to pass the threshold of the door ; and in three 
weeks, 1 was given to understand, my protector, the captain, would call, 
and that I should then be released. 

I enquired of my keeper the cause of my being imprisoned. He replied 
by saying that it was to prevent my contaminating the Sisters of St. Ursula, 
and the consecrated apartments of the Convent. 

# * * * * # #_# 

My tlu'ee weeks imprisonment expired yesterday ; during which time I 
have been made to subsist upon black unpalatable bread, and a nauseous 
liquid which the Irish porter brought to me each morning. My prison had 
no windows, and a flickering taper light only was allowed me. Thus have 
I passed the last twenty-one days— the most wretched of my existence — 
and I prayed to Allah to deliver me from this worse than Algerine punish- 
ment ! 

Last night I retired to my rude couch, and for the first time, since I had 
been imprisoned, fell into a sweet sleep; for in that sleep, my dear husband, 

I dreamed of thee and of thy safety ; of our happy home m the East ; of our 
loved friends and* merry companions. But my pleasant reverie was soon 
disturbed by loud noises from without — the shouts of men, the rattling of 
vehicles and the ringing of bells ! I now heard the crackling of flames, 
and my room was partially filled with smoke. My feeble light had expired 
and I was in utter darkness ! The horrid thought that I was to be burnt 
alive almost overwhelmed me. That my hostess had determined to sac- 
rifice me by a dreadful death, I did not doubt! 1 threw over ?ne a few arti- 
cles of wearing apparel, and found my way out of my narrow apartment, 
and endeavored to find the stairs, by which I could descend into the hall 
below. Groping about in the dark, I accidentally came in contact with a 
flight of steps, leading still upward, which I quickly ascended and came to 
a scuttle door, made of panes of glass, which was probably fastened upon 
the outside. I descended and having obtained a piece of board, again 
mounted the steps, broke through the door, and found myself in the cupola 
of the edifice I The sudden blaze of light at first almost blinded me! I 
looked beneath, and beheld a vast assemblage of riotous looking men, 
shouting and hallooing like madmen ! I also saw that the rear of the buil- 
ding was enveloped in flames and that I must soon inevitably perish ! I 
could not divest myself of the idea, that the sacrifice of the building, was 
solely on account of the alleged contamination of it by me, and that it was 
determined I should perish with it; and that the demoniacal-looking crew 
had thronged together to witness the awful sacrifice of one of their temples 
containing a devotee of Islamisrn ! I screamed aloud to attract the atten- 
tion of the multitude, and, perchance, to excite sympathy in one Christian 
breast. But alas! my cries were either not heard, or they stubbornly 
determined to heed me not. All hope fled from me ! 1 stretched forth my 
hand and prayed to Allah! Father! to receive my soul and bear it to our 
heavenly paradise ! I was now almost suffocated with hot smoke, and I 
could feel the scorching flames that threatened in a moment to encompass 
me and take away the vital spark! My briiin whirled ! my senses were be- 
wildered ! and I fainted ! 

**## * * * # 

During my first moments of consciousness, I felt myself being borne in 
the arms of a strong man through a crowd of men who were exulting and 
shouting most vociferously. I was then placed in a carriage, and heard the 


61 


THE NUN^OF ST. URSULA. 

sound of kind voices, but I was not aware, until 1 was brought here, that it 
was my dear husband who saved me.” 

#*##*### 

During Zillah’s recital of her wonderful adventures — her almost mirac- 
ulous escape a second time from the jaws of destruction — her auditors were 
so deeply affected, that she could not continue her narrative without niak- 
ing many pauses. 

‘ Wonderful !’ exclaimed Frederick Gray. ‘Your sufferings compared 
with hers, Melville, sink into insignificance.’ 

‘ True ! and I pray to Allah that our severest trials have passed,’ replied 
Melville. 

‘ May kind Heaven, hereafter, lead me in the path of duty, and forever 
guard me from Papal influence, is the heartfelt prayer of Cecile.’ 

‘My children! may Heaven bless you all! May your future days be days 
of happiness, and your eternal life be the life which God has promised to 
all who obey his commands !’ added Mrs. Melville. 

‘ Amen !’ responded the happy group. 


62 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 


ii.i 1 
i.t ' 


CHAPTER XII. 

' C0NC1.US10N. 


One month had passed since the night of the destruction of the Convent, 
and the excitement regarding it had been daily increasing. The Catholics 
were incensed beyond measure, and a majority of the Protestants were 
strong in their denunciations of the rioters. Ecclesiastical and judicial in- 
vestigations were held — but they resulted in the punishment or injury of 
none. 

Among the many who were supposed to be concerned in the Convent’s 
destruction, not a shadow of suspicion ever rested upon John Melville or 
Frederick Gray, or upon the crew of the Turkish ship then lying at anchor 
in Boston harbor. In fact, their leader had taken such wise precautions 
throughout all his proceedings, that detection would have been quite im- 
possible. 

The monk, whom it will be recollected was left in the ice-house, was 
released during the conflagration by order of Melville. But some ol the 
mob, accidentally discovering him befoie he could make his escape, took 
him to the pump where they completely drenched him ; — from thence, they 
led him to the fire where he might have an opportunity of drying and 
warming himself. He, however, quickly disappeared, and lias never been 
seen since, in this community ; nor is it known to what portion of the globe 
he fled to. 

The Irish Porter — Phelim O’Toole — and his quondam friend, Misthur 
Archy McDougal, were found beastly intoxicated at the foot of the garden, 
on the night of the conflagration. In the morning, w hen they awoke to 
consciousness, they w^ere astonished at findiiig their ‘ occupation gone.’ — 
Phelim awoke first, and endeavored to wake Archy. 

‘Och! ye bogtrotter ! open your daylights, and behold the divil’s own 
work, while ye were asleep. A pretty watchman ye are to sleep so sound 
that ye could not hear the w’alls tumbling aboot your head. Wake up, 1 
say,’ and he gave the Scotchman a slight kick with his foot which aroused 
him. 

‘ Mar counscience !’ exclaimed McDongal, rubbing his eyes. 

‘Ye may well say that ! Why did’nt ye kape a good lookout’ 

‘ I left ye here, mon, to do the watching.’ 

‘ And did’nt I lave ye here, too 

‘ You spakes the truth, mon.^ 

Phelim was soon after this discarded from the church, but he is still as firm 


THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. (>3 

a believer in the saints and miracles, and in the infallibility of the POpe as 
ever ; and his friend Archy still remains an inflexible Scotch dissenter. 
On one point, however, they have always agreed, and that is, in the efficacy 
of a ‘ little drap of the crayihur now and thin.’ 

The cockney, who figures occasionally in our romance, practised his pe- 
culiar ‘ profession,’ lor a year or two after the burning of the nunnery, with 
considerable success. But his ‘Billingsgate edication’ didn’t save him — he 
was arrested and tried on three indictments — arson, burglary and perjury — 
and was sentenced to the Charlestown State Prison for twenty years, where 
he is fed and clothed at the public expense, at the same time receiving con- 
stant instruction in the useful art of stone-culting. 

A new order of Nuns, called the ‘ Sisters of Charity,’ has been establish- 
ed, we learn, since the breaking up of the Ursulines. We know of no ob- 
jection to these ‘ Sisters,’ for, instead of immuring themselves within walls 
of brick and mortar, they go about doing poor people some service. 

It has been proposed, by some of the more zealous Catholics ofNcw- 
England, to found another monastery for the Ursuline order of Nuns, in this 
vicinity. But we trust that a project, so repugnant to the feelings of the 
great mass — the descendants of the Pilgrim fathers, who fled from the in- 
tolerance of Papal usurpation — Avill be forever abandoned. Gk) on and mul- 
tiply your churches — but have no secret auxiliaries — and both Protestants 
and Catholics may yet worship the same God in the same community with- 
out jealous rivalry— without wrangling — without rioting! 

The claims of the Catholics against our state lor reparation of the losses 
they incurred by the destruction of the Charlestown Nunnery, seems to us, 
in all sober earnestness, to be founded in justice. And yet, these claims 
are refused by a few men, who, either do not understand the principles on 
which they are grounded, or bigotry and selfishness must be the predomi- 
nant qualities of their minds. 


A few wmrds more and our story is complete. 

In a neighboring state, one fine September’s morning, a marriage cere- 
mony was performed — Frederick Gray and Cecile Melville, were united 
in the holy bands of matrimony! The only witnesses to the joyous event 
were John Melville and his Grecian bride, and Mrs. Melville. On the eve- 
ning of the following day, a splendid fete was given on board of the Turk- 
ish ship, lying in the harbor, and a gay concourse of the friends of the 
bride and bridegroom assembled to partake in the festivities, and to offer 
their congratulations. A magnificent and luxurious banquet was spread 
in the large cabin cjf the ship, which was richly and gaily decorated for the 
occasion. Great was the surprise of the, guests, on being summoned to the 
feast, to behold every thing prepared after the mode of the Orientals ; even 
cushions were placed around instead of chairs; the servants were uniform- 
Ip apparelled in a neat Turkish costume, consisting of tunic, full trousers, 
and tasseled ffiz; and all seemed so oddly magnificent and sumptuous, that 
they were decidedly at a loss how to begin. However, Melville and his 
beautiful Zillah, set the example, and seated themselves upon the cushions, 
which the guests tolerably well imitated. It was, indeed, an amusing scene, 
and its oddity added no little hilarity and zest to the entertainment. After 
their feast, they were summoned to the deck of the ship, where a band of 
Turkish musicians were stationed playing Oriental airs. The dancing now 
commenced, and joy and merrimerst reigned supreme. It was ata late hour 


64 


THE NUN OF ST* URSULA. 


when the quests bade adieu to their friends, and expressed their delight at 
the agreeable surprises, and general enjoyment, which the novel entertain- 
ment had afforded them. We venture here gravely to assert that this was 
the only instance of an Oriental f&te ever known to have been given in New 
England. 

On the next day the ship weighed anchor and put to sea, with the happy 
group who assembled so surprisingly at the cottage on the night of the con- 
flagration. In due time they arrived at Constantinople, where Melville and 
Zillah were received with great joy by Pasha Mehemet Effendi, and, indeed 
public demonstrations were made congratulatory of their return. 

Frederick Gray, his wife and mother, after two years’ residence in the 
great city of the Osrnanlis, returned, via France and England, to the United 
States. Melville commissioned Gray to seek out the American captain, who 
rescued Zillah from the wreck of the Spanish ship, and present to him, in 
his name, a diamond broach, and a magnificent chibouk, for the interest he 
manifested in her behalf. Gray’s family are now residing with "his mother 
at the beautiful cottage, and are greatly esteemed and beloved by a large 
circle of valuable acquaintances. They are now in anticipation of a visit 
from their eastern relatives during the next summer. 


4 

THtl END. 


ERRATA. 

Page .39— 25th line from the bottom— read Hinginemen instead of Hingemen. 
Page 48— 9th “ “ read visions instead of vision. 

Page 49— 6th “ “ read was raised, instead of was read. 








